Of Shadows and Light
by C. Selene Belle
Summary: Alternate sequel to Of Two Kingdoms. Allen and Celena with an OC named Denevive. Allen loses his arm during the duel and while he's coping with the loss, Celena and Denevive make plans to leave for a mysterious forgotten place. A land of elves.
1. The Duel Prologue

_Author's Note: Alright, this is the alternate version of the duel in Of Two Kingdoms. It's basically raw roleplay between myself and Croik which can explain how each paragraphs jumps from one character to another. I would like to remind everyone that this story was written in response to a **challenge** and was **not** originally my idea to **rip off Allen's arm**. (Notice that I did not have it ripped off rather that neatly severing it with a blade. . .) I'm evil either way. Enjoy the story and please review._

The Duel

Much preparation was made for the match that was to take place. The Stadium in Palas was cleaned for the crowd, the arena groomed for the duelists. Allen trained and practiced for the next two days. Though he was confident in his skill, it never hurt to prepare for such an important event. Even if he were planning to lose. Denevive wasn't the wiser. He trained vigorously, thinking there was no stopping him from victory. For him his kingdom always came first.

Soon, the day came for the duel. People crowded into the stands to sit as the audience, waiting with great anticipation that match about to take place. It was to be Asturia's very own Knight Caeli against a high ranking Fanelian Samurai! Everyone could hardly contain their excitement.

Celena paced in the pits of the arena, the stone block chamber and hallways where warriors passed through to enter the arena. This was where her brother waited admittance into the ring. Her fingers were interwoven with each other and she couldn't keep herself from worrying, thinking something might go wrong. "What if he's better than you think, Allen?" She asked her brother. He stood there, much to Celena's annoyance, with the most calm and reserved expression on his face she had ever seen.

"Then I shall be pleasantly surprised," Allen replied, smiling faintly. "Celena, there's nothing to worry about. Am I not the most skilled knight in all of Gaea?" He quirked an eyebrow.

Celena stopped her pacing, going to him and fixing his collar on his plain white shirt and the tie on his purple sash about his waist. "Yes, of course you are. There's nothing to worry about, is there?" A fanfare blared outside and she jumped unexpectedly.

Allen smiled slightly, and patted her head. "Don't worry--everything is going to be just fine. Now go find yourself a proper seat." Allen kissed her cheek lightly and turned to leave the preparation area, striding out into the open arena, preparing himself for what lay ahead.

"Good luck!" She called after his retreating form and went off upstairs to the stands.

Denevive strode into the arena with an air of confidence, saluting the royalty seated in the balcony and the acknowledging his opponent. He looked at the man, reminding himself that this duel was to be taken seriously for his country.

Allen returned the gesture with a deep bow, honoring the man that would be his opponent. The fierce, clear gaze pleased him. Internally, he smiled--he was about to give the boy something to brag about for years to come. Perhaps it would do both of them a bit of good. "The best of luck to you, Sir Denevive," he murmured, saluting their ruler in the stands before taking up a stance to await the start.

King Aston did not rise when his voice rose above the crowd's to speak. "Gentlemen. I hope you have prepared well for this day. This day will ultimately change lives of many people - starting with yours. Now, the duel!" He grinned maliciously, "To the death!"

Celena, in the stands, snapped her gaze towards the King, the color draining from her face when the words sunk in. No . . . it couldn't be. Either her brother or her new found love were to die? The king was crazy, she finally decided. She looked down at the two men in the arena, hoping they were smart enough to think of an alternative.

Denevive turned his head to the ruler. "What?"

Allen whirled about, shocked. He could not think to respond from shock. To...the death? Had the king lost his senses. "Your Majesty!" he shouted, knowing it was useless, that his words would not be heard. His gaze shifted back to Denevive, wide and confused. "I knew nothing of this," he swore to the boy.

"Nor did I!" shouted Denevive the uproar of the crowd, looking as confused as any of them. Gulping loudly, he took his sword and readied himself for battle. "Um - g-g-g-good luck to you, Sir Allen."

Before anyone knew what was happening, both entrances the fighters used to enter the arena were gated and locked. Jadik, seated next to Van, protested loudly. Van as well gave protest to Aston's surprise decision. "If anyone tries to defy the rules, you will be arrested."

Allen stared at him, then back to his king, and scowled. "Of all the miserable..." It was then that his gaze landed on Celena, and he felt his skin grow pale. How could he continue this, facing the man upon which his own sister had fixed her affections? Were he to kill Denevive...to deprive his ancient friend Van of his country...betray his own sister and morals... Allen shook his head, fiercely, disbelieving. "This can't be happening," he muttered, returning his focus again to his...opponent. "Denevive, I can not kill you."

"Nor can I kill you." responded the samurai truthfully, still holding his sword and hoping the king does not get angry that they have not begun the duel. "What should we do?" He looked around, desperately searching for an answer. Anywhere. He looked towards the crowd and there saw the maiden that had captured his heart. He could not possibly kill this man before him, the brother of the one he had adhered affection to.

Allen ground his teeth as he tried to think. There had to be a way out of this...some solution. He certainly couldn't take the boy's life--to win the duel in any way was inconceivable, for it would mean great suffering for Van, his comrade. But he was not himself yet ready to die for them, either.

Denevive readied himself for the duel, posing his sword perfectly in the air and making the sun gleam off the polished metal. "Are you prepared to die?" Asked Denevive, unsure about this death business. He couldn't possibly kill the man in cold blood . . . but if it meant for the sake of his country that he must die, he could not do anything to change it. He grieved the fact that the sweet young lady he met a few days before would most likely never speak to him again.

Allen stared at him--he should have expected no less of a Fanelian soldier, one of Van's finest. He, too, took up a stance. "Denevive. I'm sorry, but I can't hold back against you." His insides twisted, and quietly he prayed, "May Celena forgive us both."

Denevive took a deep breath with those words, trying not to let his emotion show as he charged the knight. Blades met in mid-air, locking their swords. "Does that mean you would kill me for your country's petty wants?"

"No," Allen replied instantly, struggling against him. "But I cannot die here." He forced them apart and struck again, pushing his young opponent back. "Forgive me, Denevive. I have nothing but respect for you and your country. But I will not die here, today."

"If you think you are not fated to die here and now," seethed Denevive, panting as he was pushed back, "Then you're more arrogant that I had thought. You're country will claim victory this day if you kill me. What will become of Fanelia?" He charged aggressively, putting all his strength into his sword.

Allen cringed, struggling to keep the blade from his throat. Denevive was more skilled than he had anticipated. "I'm sorry." It was all he could say. He twisted his wrist, flicking the boy's sword momentarily to the side and landing a heavy kick to his gut.

Denevive grunted as the wind was knocked out of him, falling onto the ground and holding his aching belly. He was down for but a moment and that would have been all Allen needed. He rolled out of the way and sprung up to his feet once more. "Damn you! You're no knight. A true knight would give his life for a worthy cause! Is this not a worthy cause?" He demanded, holding his sword as steady as he could.

"You have a lot to learn," Allen replied. He had made no move against the boy while he was down--at the least, he deserved that much of a fair fight. He lifted his voice. "If you believe your cause worthy, then speak through your steel! Defeat me, Denevive! Only then will you be justified."

"Celena would never forgive me." He said, staying back. He now held his sword nervously as if unsure of what to do. He could feel his anger rising from the knight's words, however. He refuses to die for the sake of Fanelia . . . he refuses to die to stop another war before it starts. But with those thoughts in mind - he ground his teeth and snarled at the man before him. "You deserve to die if you would rather have war between our countries."

Allen grieved silently at his words, though his face remained unchanged. But no--there was still much for him to do. There would be another opportunity to stop this from becoming war...wouldn't there? With time, perhaps, the king could be persuaded... Allen shook his head, realizing how selfish and cowardly he was behaving. Were it Van within that arena, he would have surrendered his throat without a second thought. Why could he not do the same for Van's country? "Enough," he snapped, striking suddenly. "Fight me, Denevive. If you would put the affection of a lady over your country, then we are both fools, and deserve to die as one!"

Denevive's eyes flared with anger, blocking Allen's sudden blow and take another cautious step backwards. "But - she's your sister!" He protested, countering another strike with his blade. That particular move ended up trimming some of Allen's hair, short strands of it being caught in the light breeze before falling to the ground. A few inches closer and Denevive could have taken the knights head off.

Allen's eyes widened a moment before a grin broke out on his face, despite their situation. He certainly was an amazing opponent. "My sister is young, sir knight, she'll yet heal from one lost love." He struck again, drawing a small cut across the boy's left forearm, more taunting than for intent of harm. "Now stop babbling, and fight! Show me that the Fanelian spirit is worth saving."

Denevive scowled at Allen. "I had once respected you. But I have since lost that respect. May the gods forgive both of us this day." He charged again, twirling into an attack rarely used by swordsmen those days. His hair flailed about him, his sword gleamed before it was stained slightly crimson. He gave Allen a cut identical to his own and stepped back once more.

"Much better." Still, Allen had no idea what he was to do. But it was better this way, that the boy should strike him down in hatred than in regret. Or...to strike him down at all... Allen continued the fight, if only to keep his mind from spinning. He would know, when the moment came, what his decision was. In the meantime, he not surrender unless Denevive showed no less than his best.

Celena had been watching all of this from the stands, seated near the railing. She had been horrified and shocked at the same time when the king announced the surprise rule. She saw the blood drawn from both men and at that moment, could not stand for it any longer. She looked around desperately for a weapon for herself. Gritting her teeth, she stood and ran down to the pits, finding a fine Fanelian sword on the weapons rack there. She looked at the gate, narrowing her eyes at the guard. There was no way she would be able to enter the arena through that way. She would have to jump from the stands.

She grinned as she went back up, thinking how clever it was to steal a sword and not be caught by the guard there. Looking over the railing, she judged the height of the wall from the arena floor to where she stood. "Doesn't look more than ten feet. Here goes nothing..." Lifting her skirts, she prepared herself for an agile jump, springing from stands to the arena and landing gracefully. She smiled and quickly ran to the dueling men, giving Denevive a good kick to drive him backwards and letting herself get in between the two. "Fight me and let my brother live."

Denevive gave a small grunt when he was kicked. It wasn't as hard as Allen's blow to his gut but it still drove him back a good ways. "Fight you? Have you gone mad?"

"Celena!" Allen exclaimed, shocked by her sudden entrance. "What in God's name do you think you're doing?" He snatched her arm and tried to pull her back.

Regretfully, Celena forced herself to give Allen a good backwards kick to force him back as well. "I'm saving your life, you sod! Get back!"

Allen stumbled back, surprised. "Celena!" He glared at her. "Stand aside--this is not your fight."

"I'm afraid I cannot fight the person I'm not intended to fight. And certainly not a lady!" Protested the samurai.

"You got a problem fighting a lady?" She snarled, posing her sword and grinning menacingly. "I'll show you how lady like I can be in battle!" She attacked suddenly, being smaller and quicker than the samurai. Her stolen sword shined in the sun, crashing against the metal of Denevive's blade.

Allen should have known better, but there was no helping it. He shot forward, snatching his sister's arm once more and throwing her, in a rather ungraceful manner, to the arena floor. "That's quite enough," he fairly shouted, aware of the audience's heavy attention. "This is not one of our games, Celena. Stand back."

She yelped as she hit the floor, the warmth of anger quickly coming to her face as she glared at Allen. "Ungrateful bastard..." She muttered, bringing her sword tip to his rear and poking him one; nothing hard enough to draw blood. Just a little prick. She stood quickly.

Allen snorted indignantly at her constant interference. He quickly turned his attention to Denevive, however. "Forgive my sister for her impertinence," he muttered, attacking again. Hopefully Celena had enough sense not to interrupt so fiery an exchange. "We'll settle this ourselves."

"Of course..." He said evenly, blocking and countering the exchange. "You're sister is quite the fierce young lady, isn't she?" He asked without skipping a beat as he moved quickly to block another sudden attack made by the Schezar sister.

She forced Denevive back again, making her aligned with Allen, speaking to him as she passed, "I'll not have you die when you have things yet to do on this plane."

"She's been a handful, I'll admit," Allen smirked, pushing his sister back again. He cringed a bit at the thought of the bruises she would have later on. Ignoring her protests he continued to fight, his frustration making his attacks a bit wild, pummeling the young general.

"Oof!" Denevive grunted, his head spinning from the sudden blow to the head and for a moment he didn't know which way his sword was going.

"Oh, no you don't!" She declared, springing back into the middle of the melee and taking over for Allen once more, giving him a good kick again during her flurry of blows.

Allen stumbled only momentarily, cursing, before reaching back into the fray, dragging his sister back. For a moment--only a slight moment--he lost track of where Denevive was, too focused on removing his sister from danger. The movement left him completely open, and he turned back, scowling, unprepared for the blow that was already coming.

Denevive was still dazed from the blow, finding his swung in any which direction he could. Everything was blurred but he had to defend himself. He didn't feel the resistance of another blade for but a moment. He saw two figures in front of him, moving very quickly. He brought his sword up, slashing fiercely upwards and he connected. His vision was suddenly filled with the color crimson. What had he done?

Allen's heart rushed into his ears at the feel of cold metal slicing into his arm. He had barely seen the blade until that moment, and all the crowd silenced around him--by his own mind's illusion or otherwise, he did not know. All he knew was the pain, striking and deep, piercing flesh and muscle, like a hot iron. The agony muted and blinded him. And then he felt nothing. He was only dimly aware of the too slow decent of his body to the arena floor, the dust stinging his white-washed eyes, the anxious silence of the audience. Somewhere nearby, Celena's voice rose, but he could not make out the words. He couldn't even feel the wound any more, nor the blood that was likely tainting his white silk. There was only the pounding of his heart, fierce, in his ears.

Celena watched the atrocity, eyes wide in shock. She moved quickly to help her brother to the ground. She searched around desperately, looking at the wound that had been inflicted on Allen and covered her mouth. It couldn't be helped. She screamed, silencing the audience around them. "Oh, gods!" She screamed, staring at his wound as it leaked his life's blood and soaked the dust in red. His arm - his sword arm - lay a few feet away from his body, completely severed. It still held his sword which gleamed brightly in the sunlight.

That voice...he knew it well, and yet it was so far away... Allen blinked, but there was only white light before his eyes, causing him pain. When he tried to speak his innards twisted in nausea. He felt as if he were spinning, his body contorted, his blood escaping... He was cold--cold from deep within his chest to the tips of his fingers.

"Call for a doctor!" She screamed at Denevive, only briefly glancing back to see him running for the gates. She turned her gaze back on her brother, touching his face, anything to keep him awake. "Allen! Stay awake! Please! Hold on, brother! Someone's coming to help you, just hold on!" She kissed his face, not noticing her tears as they escaped from her sapphire eyes.

"Celena..." he croaked, at last recognizing that silver voice. "Are you...all right?" And suddenly the pain came over him, mercilessly striking through his right side, causing his body to shudder in the dirt. A strangled, anguished cry was torn from his throat. When he tried to clutch at the injury his groping hand caught only sand, and in panic he pawed desperately where his wounded arm should have laid.

"Don't -," she pleaded, grabbing his hand and holding it to her. "You - mustn't touch your wound, Allen." She sobbed, tightening her grip on his remaining hand.

Allen's hand surrounded hers in an almost crushing grip as he trembled, gasping for breath between pained moans. What was happening? How had this happened? He remembered trying to distance Celena from the fight. His sight swam in and out, and for a moment he glimpsed her face, pale and stricken. Why was she crying? There were other people around, murmuring far away...the too-bright sun...the stands of people...and something else--a gleam of light off metal, lying in the bloodied dirt several yards away. It captured his attention with an almost morbid fascination.

Finally, a doctor had been found, running towards them as fast as he could. He dropped to his knees, working quickly to stanch the blood from Allen's wound. "Will he live?" She asked the doctor but was met with no reply. In vain, she wiped away the tears that stained her face, watching Allen's gaze turn. She noticed what he was looking at and tried to avert his gaze from such a grotesque sight. "Don't look at it, Allen!" She demanded, bending over him and trying to force his head to turn away.

An agonized sob passed the fallen knight's mouth, and at last he clamped shut the cruel organs that showed him his fate. He could feel the cold slipping through him, outward from his chest, silencing the crowd and the doctor and even his sister. Still he clung to her, however, even as the blinding light was enfolded in shade. He whispered her name until at last his strength ran out, and he fell limply back against the earth, deep in dreamless sleep.


	2. The beginning

_A/N: Sorry for the long descriptions, for those of you who can't stand them. I was - shall we say - inspired. In any case, reviews are welcomed and encouraged. I know there aren't many of you who are reading this story, as most Esca fans like Van/Hitomi and/or Dilandau/Dragonslayers. Personally, Allen and Celena, to me, are the most interesting characters to write about. They're not in love and they're so full of angstyness while being absurdly beautiful people and very very kind. I'm all for mushy. . _

**Chapter One**

A dark cloud decended upon Asturia. It had been such a hot day, so hot that the dust burned the skin. It had soiled Celena's day gown as she sat next to her brother's side. She was in hysterics, her hands covering her face to avoid from seeing ghastly am

A dark cloud descended upon Asturia. It had been such a hot day, so hot that the dust burned the skin. It had soiled Celena's day gown as she sat next to her brother's side. She was in hysterics, her hands covering her face to avoid from seeing ghastly amounts of blood seep through the doctor's thick cloths. She couldn't bear to watch what the man was doing, though her tears would have surely blinded her anyway. It seemed like years passed and there she was still, crying by her fallen brother's side, before she felt hands lifting her up by the arms and dragging her out of the dust filled arena. She looked over to her side and could barely recognize Denevive's face. He was speaking to her but she could not hear his words. She stumbled along with him, just reaching the shade of the pits, when her legs would carry her weight no longer and darkness came.

The next thing Celena knew when she awakened was that she was comfortable. She was laying down and it was a soft place to be; soft and warm. She didn't open her eyes for she felt light shining on her eyelids. One eye first to be safe, then the other. She was in her room, on her own bed. She sighed. Maybe it was all just a dream; a horrible, terrible dream. She would find her brother going about his day happily as if nothing had changed; because nothing had changed at all. Celena let those thoughts linger as she looked about her bed, examining the sheer material of the canopy. She felt the soft satin and velvet of her bedcovers. Her room was always so bright and cheery in such lovely daylight. Colors like pink and light blues and pale yellows helped to create the ambiance of cheer. She smiled and was tempted to just lay there to sleep some more.

She turned on her side, her hands digging underneath her head for extra pillow when she suddenly felt very grungy. Her hands flew out in front her and she almost yelped at their sight. Her hands were dirty and still sticky with sweat that had dried long before. Sitting up quickly, she looked down at her gown and narrowed her eyes when she saw ripped seams at the bottom of the skirt and dust stains on the pink fabric. She pulled back the skirt to see her boots but they had been removed earlier and she only saw her slim foot. However, what she saw was enough evidence to tell her it had not been a dream. Scrambling over the side of the bed, Celena was on her feet and suddenly dazed as blood rushed into her head telling her to move slower. She pushed on to the door despite the dizziness, grabbing the handle for a moment to hold herself steady before opening.

Out in the hall, she paid no heed to the passing maid or the nurse leaving her brother's room next door to hers. Before she knew it, Celena found herself at his door with her hand trembling as it was poised over the knob. She shook her head, pulling her hand back and forcing herself to breath. If it was truth, she didn't want to know; didn't want to see it. For a long time, she only stood there, facing the deep colored wood of Allen's bedroom door. She wouldn't dare open it.

"I said excuse me, deary." said the plump nurse. Slowly, Celena turned her head and saw the nurse's fat rosy cheeks and chin. Her face looked as if it was being pushed through the tiny face hole in her wimple, a lock of curly golden hair falling over the side of her face. She seemed a little annoyed but still patient. When Celena hadn't moved, the nurse simply pushed passed her and swung the door open wide. The young girl couldn't help but follow with her eyes and held the door open before it shut again.

It was so much darker in his room, the thick curtains drawn to keep out the bright late morning sunshine. By design, his room was darker anyway as the walls were papered with deep blue and the wood for his furniture was mahogany. Celena's bare feet met with the rug on the hard wood floor and was pleasantly surprised by the soft feel of it's stitching. It was certainly more comfortable as her knees felt the rug and soon the palm of her hands, to keep from falling over as her energy drained. She could just barely see over the edge of the four post bed in front of her. Allen lay asleep, his hair gathered from under him and placed off to the side so it wouldn't get caught. All Celena could see was his pale face as the covers of his thick bedspread were drawn up to his chin. The world was muted around her and again she did not hear the nurse speaking to her. The plump woman must have given up and tried to lift Celena up by her arm, similar to the way she was dragged out of the arena.

"Leave me be!" She nearly screamed when the nurse dared touch her, thrashing her arm as she loosened the older woman's hold. On her own volition, she stood again from the soft rug, her eyes fixed on Allen's prone form.

"You mustn't be in here, young lady." said the nurse gently, a tone of impatience entering her voice.

Celena did not hear, or at least if she had she did not show any recognition. She took staggered steps towards her brother's bedside, slowly making her way around and gripping the posts for support. She hovered over him, blood rushing wildly into her skull and her heart thumping against her chest like a heavy drum. He was so pale, she noted. She could not help her face contorting into a look of pain and guilt as she stared at Allen's closed eyes, wishing they were open. She wanted to see their brilliant blue color again but had to wonder if they would ever be so brilliant as before now that . . .

Her hands reached for the bedspread, feeling the soft texture of the deep blue velvet. It was as soft as the one on her own bed. She closed her eyes and scolded herself for the detour in her thoughts. This is not what she came here for; she came to see for herself if everything that had happened truly had occurred. Her body was shaking, her hands losing strength in her nervousness. She pulled back the covers.

"No." She choked when she saw it. "Gods, no!"

Allen lay bare chested save the enormous amounts of linen bandages about his front and his right side. Down his shoulder the bandages grew thicker around what remained of his right arm, stopping a few inches above where his elbow would have been. Except for the few inches left of the appendage, Allen's right arm was gone.

Celena stared for a moment until her eyes couldn't take the pain any longer and she tugged the bedspread back over his front. Her breath was shaking as she prepared herself to speak to the nurse. "How long . . .?"

"Since yesterday, miss." replied the nurse readily. "And you've been out for almost as long as he has. The poor dear," she added, casting a sad glance to the fallen knight.

"Why - what . . ." She couldn't release herself from her shock, her voice choking only frustrating her all the more. She whispered painfully, "Where's his arm?"

"Oh, dear, miss. It was disposed of. No good to the lad now." If this nurse showed any remorse for what Allen or Celena was going through, she certainly hid it well.

"Couldn't you sew it back on him?"

"Why, no. Impossible."

"Why!" She demanded, a little too loudly and the sound made her cringe. Not that she was afraid of waking her brother for he would most likely stay asleep for quite a while no matter what sort of racket when on.

"Honestly, girl. You can't sew on a severed limb and expect it to work properly. It's impossible." The fat woman stood there with her hands folded in front of her as if she were giving Celena the privilege of dealing with a seemingly patient nurse. Celena only narrowed her eyes before looking down at her brother's slumbering face again.

"What will become of him?" She asked softly, "By the gods - he can't live like this! He's too young to live like this." She knelt by his bedside, her knees unable to support her again as she lost her resolve and covered her face. "Twenty two years old and he's - Gods, why did this have to happen? It's my fault! I shouldn't have - shouldn't have interfered! "

"Come along, miss." said the nurse apathetically, taking the girl by the shoulders to help her onto her feet. "You mustn't be in here, now."

"Why mustn't I? I'm his sister! He needs me!" She tried to push the fat old nurse away but her strength was spent and she could hardly stand again.

"He doesn't need a hysterical girl roaming about his room!" scolded the nurse. It took the woman's every effort to push Celena out of the room. "Now, leave him to his rest. He's suffered enough already." As soon as Celena was out the door, the nurse shut and locked it. Celena didn't even try to go back. She couldn't think of what to do, not after this; after what she had done to Allen. At least he was alive. But that thought wasn't much consolation for what did he have to live for now? A life without his sword arm; ironically a life without his way of life.

"Miss?" spoke a soft voice, shaking Celena's shoulder's gently. "Miss, please . . ." The maid was met by a red-eyed stare. "Can I help you off the floor, miss?"

Celena laughed bitterly. "I'm beginning to become accustomed to the damned place."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing, Jeyla. Where's Misshel?" She stood, swaying unsteadily as she tried to regain her balance. "I want to - take a bath."

"I'll have a bath prepared for you right away, miss." responded the maid promptly, leaving quickly to do as she was told.

The bath was little less than relaxing. The warm water seemed too cold, she trembled furiously with every lathering stroke of the rosewater scented soap. Everything was wrong; all of it dark and terribly wrong. Not even pacing about her room seemed to comfort her, as it was something her brother did constantly when he grew nervous. Celena certainly never thought she would be one to pace when it only made her uncomfortable. With a sigh, she sat on the edge of her bed, pushing her wet silvery hair behind an ear as it had drooped over her eyes.

She couldn't stay there all day. She had to leave the house. So it was finally decided that she ride into Palas. The white and silver mare she rode upon was ever faithful in being Celena's steed. Most times, Celena considered the horse her only friend besides those who worked at her house. Mystic was a good horse and her owner always tried to make sure she was treated well. Though, that day she could not help but push the horse hard as it galloped full speed through the forest. Once she entered the city, she had to be careful not to trample pedestrians that roamed in the early afternoon. Without really thinking about it, she rode to the stables just on the edge of town to hitch her horse.

Wandering was usually for those who had no direction and it made Celena wonder as she moped about the city streets if her life would be this way from now on. It was not she who had lost her arm and yet it effected her much more than she could imagine. There was a pit in her stomach at the thought of her brother living his life the way he was now. More than likely, she would have to be there for him to help with whatever he needed. She took in a sharp breath, choking suddenly as tears stung her eyes. Once he had been so capable, so strong. Now he'll be crippled and helpless for the rest of his life!

The girl didn't notice the occasional stares directed towards her as she passed, for she had covered her face in a vain attempt to hide her tears and muffle her sobs.

"Lady Celena!" called a tenor voice from ahead of her. She knew that voice and it surprised her to the point where she bothered to look at the speaker.

"S-sir Denevive," she sniffed, using the back of her hand to wipe her face. "What are you doing here?"

The young brunette samurai approached her, regarding her with a gaze full of sadness to match her own. "I couldn't stand the palace right now. It's chaos there." Gently, he took her hand and kissed it. "My lady - I do not know how to approach this subject but . . . how fares your brother?"

Celena honestly didn't know how to speak to this man about Allen's condition. After all, this was all his doing and for that reason she felt as if she should blame Denevive as much as herself for what had happened. Curiously enough, she did not. "Unconscious still. I - don't know when he'll awaken, really." She covered her mouth, closing her eyes. Why was it so painful? She was stronger than that, wasn't she?

Upon seeing her distress, for a moment Denevive panicked. The relationship between them was delicate to say the least but he could never stand to see a lady so upset. He embraced her tenderly and was pleasantly surprised when she did not pull away. Briefly he wondered if he should whisper words of comfort into her soft hair but found he did not know of any comforting words to give.

"Curse the gods for what they have done." she sobbed, clutching the man who held her and pressing her cheek into his shoulder. "Curse me for meddling with fate! Curse that damned King Aston. . ."

"It's not good to speak ill of the dead." Denevive found himself saying, his voice soft. Without missing a beat, he heard Celena scoff and could have sworn that she even laughed slightly, albeit full of bitterness and scorn.

"He's dead, huh?" She sneered, "Good."

"Celena. . ."

"Good, I say!" She pulled back with a hard jerk, glaring at Denevive, "I'm glad to be rid of that madman! For look what he has wrought upon my family! Upon my beloved brother! My - beloved . . . crippled . . ." She whimpered, feeling her knees about to buckle from underneath. Denevive had been trying to quiet her announcements before tactfully noticing her sudden sign of weakness and catching her before she fell to the ground.

"Please, my lady," he pleaded gently, "you are distraught and you must not speak such things out in the middle of the street. Allow me to take you home, where you can rest properly."

"My horse . . ." She said into his shoulder, looking just over it and passed his long hair towards the palace. Black flags were flying at every spire, mourning the loss of the nation's ruler. She wanted to burn them. She wanted revenge, to justify Allen's accident. However, with all these thoughts in tow, it weakened her all the more and she found herself sagging against the young samurai. "I don't want to go home. Not yet."

Denevive sighed, still holding the girl up. "Well, we can't stay in the middle of the street and the palace is in a complete state of disarray." He realized he was about to offer to buy her a stiff drink and for a moment, rejected the idea completely for she was a gentle lady of the court. Then he remembered how furiously she had fought him during the duel just the day before. Still a lady but certainly not gentle when it came down to it. "Perhaps we can -"

"I need a drink or two. Lucky for us there's a respectable Inn right down this street." Said the girl wearily, "If that's alright with you, Sir Denevive."

Denevive pulled back long enough to eye her warily, wondering if perhaps it was mere coincidence that she had offered. He gave her a slight smile and nodded.

A respectable Inn and tavern usually meant that it was an establishment visited by the more popular middle class. The benefits of this usually included less bar fights for middle class businessmen always had more important things to worry about - like their money purse. People who came to the Dragon's Tooth Inn were likely to attend events at the city's Stadium as well. Needless to say that there were many whispers among the patrons when Celena entered and Denevive close behind her. The two tried to ignore all the stares cast their way as they found a table with a good amount of solitude and ordered drinks in peace.

Celena stared down at her reflection in her wine glass, trying not to notice Denevive's intense gaze upon her. "What is it, Denevive?" she asked, trying not to sound as exasperated as she felt.

Denevive blushed a bit, looking down and letting out a brief chuckle, "I suppose you could say I'm - admiring the view?"

"Please. Spare me the romance. I'm in poor spirits for it."

"Poor spirits. You've spirits right in front of you. Drink your fill then." He glanced at her, lifting his eyebrow. Celena glared at first but soon gave into a small smile creeping onto her charming face.

"You're not supposed to make me feel better." she argued, knowing her point was weak.

"Oh?" he dared to counter, "Then perhaps I'll simply leave you in poor spirits and take the rest of what you've got in your goblet."

Celena tightened her grip around her cup, gulping down the stinging liquid just as he had reached across the table. With a satisfied sigh, she slammed the empty goblet down. "Quite alright. I'll take what I've got."

Denevive mirrored her actions and downed his own wine in a single drink. "Well, then. Are your spirits lifting yet?"

"Not yet. I think I'll order more though." Denevive readily complied, calling over the barmaid and having their goblets refilled. "Thank you." Celena said to Denevive after their drinks her refreshed.

"For what?"

Celena lifted her drink and gave him a look that meant he should have known. "For the drinks."

He only laughed at her statement. "Do you realize we've been talking about drinks for the past few minutes now? It's as if we haven't anything better to discuss."

"Honestly, what have we got to discuss?"

"Well," he began, thinking for a moment. "I don't really know much about you. And you nothing of me. Aside from the sword arts."

Celena had to remind herself just who she was speaking to and what they both have done. Her brother lay unconscious at home, missing an appendage and here she was consorting with the man who took that appendage! Even though these thoughts were in mind, she didn't really blame Denevive for Allen's accident; not as much as she blamed herself. Why was she here? She should be at home, shouldn't she? If that were the case, she still didn't want to be there. She didn't want to be reminded of what her brother will go through from now on. She just wanted to forget.

"Celena?"

"What?" She snapped her gaze back to the samurai.

"I believe you were what they call 'lost in thought'. Is this true?" He asked.

Celena smiled sheepishly, gazing down at her folded hands on the table. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"What were you thinking of?" His voice was soft and sincere and Celena had to wonder why he cared so much about her. Why did he even try?

"My brother." she answered. She couldn't lie to him. There was no point in it. "I - understand that it . . . it really wasn't your fault. It was mine for jumping into something I wasn't supposed to."

"Celena," he took a breath, "you were so very brave for what you did. You risked your life to save his. I admire you for that, really. And I commend you swordsmanship."

"My brother taught me." she said with a proud smile, "Well, sort of. I watched him a lot of the time before he approved training me."

He was about to comment on her brother's skill but decided that it would be best to veer away from that topic of discussion. He could tell, just by looking into the girl's eyes that hurt was on the horizon, lingering near her like a serpent ready to strike. Her spirit was very fragile indeed and if he was to try and win her heart at all, he should be more cautious. But something changed just then - the look in her eyes - that made him realize she was studying him.

"What . . .?" She said with a half-smile. She scrunched up her nose in her curiosity, reaching across the small table to his face. He jerked away suddenly, covering the side of his head with his hand. She frowned and pulled back her hand. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right." he assured, making sure his long hair covered the sides of his head and, more importantly, his ears. He laughed to himself, realizing there's probably no point in hiding it now.

"I just noticed - how unusual your ears are. . . not that I would notice your ears before. I never really thought to look but . . ." She gazed at him again after he removed his hands from covering his ears and she smiled slightly as she saw the subtle tips of them.

"It is unusual, isn't it?" he asked with a smile, pushing back his hair behind his revealed ears.

"Denevive," she began carefully, "why are your ear pointed like that?"

The young man couldn't help but smile at how well she was already taking this small detail of his. He leaned in close to her over the table, his face bright and his violet eyes sparkling in the soft lantern-lit tavern. "Promise not to tell anyone?" When he saw her nod slightly, enjoying her beautiful smile, he leaned in closer still and lowered his voice so that only she may hear him. "I'm half elven."


	3. When all else fails

_Author's Note: Okay, I've figured it out. If you're wondering what Denevive looks like, think of Zechs from Gundam Wing (Milliardo Peacecraft) only with dark brown hair and violet eyes. Just to make it easier for visualization._

**Chapter Two**

Elves! Surely he was jesting for no one had ever seen such a creature in all of Gaea. The race was only known of in stories but . . . how did that explain Denevive's unusual ears? And how did no one notice this trait about him before? All these questions - and several others - came from the awestruck Schezar and to her dismay, only some of them could be answered. Denevive explained patiently that he had been raised in a nearby province but that he did not know of his true heritage until he had spoken to an ancient sage traveling through his town. Before that, everyone in his village thought his ears as unusual but never commented on them; their shape was too subtle to make solid evidence of anything.

Truth revealed to him at last, his past was yet a mystery and this only frustrated him all the more. No civilization on this continent had ever seen his kind and he did not know where to begin looking. Repeatedly he had asked his foster parents how he had come into their lives. It was then that he discovered he was found on the fishing shore near the village where he was to be raised, an infant wrapped among seaweed in a strangely made basket of wood no one had any knowledge of. This led Denevive to believe that there was civilizations on unknown continents across the sea. But how did this explain that he was only half of an elf? His other half was undoubtedly human.

However, by this time, the questions asked only made both of them giggle and chuckle as they had moved on from wine and onto harder liquor.

"Only half of an elf!" Celena slapped the table as she tried to control her laughter, her face filled with drunken elation. Denevive moved his index finger clumsily against his lips, wavering in his seat as he tried to quiet her announcement.

"Shhh . . . you're no' s'posed to tell an'one." He too had a smile on his face, looking at the collection of empty shot glasses they had managed to gather within their visit. Both of them had turned seven of them and their contest was still going as there were five shots left full on their small table. He gently pushed one towards her. "Have another drink. . ."

"You too!" She grinned, leaning her elbow on the table to keep herself from falling over. She took her glass in hand and watched him through blurry eyes as he did the same. "One - five . . . wait no."

"Two, dear. Two. It goes one and then two."

"Right." she pointed at him with a smile. "One, two, five . . ."

"No, no. Forge' five . . . here, I'll do it. . .one, two - three!" Throwing their heads back, they quickly downed the shots and slammed the empty glass upside down, marking their eighth successful drink. Celena gasped, spirits making her teeter back and forth on her seat. Were it not for her elbow firmly on the table, she would have fallen out of her chair. Her eyes narrowed as they tried to overcome the wall-eyed vision of drunken bliss. She could barely see Denevive across from her at all, let alone remember all her troubles. How extraordinary! she thought happily as she hiccuped, everything is so - happy.

"Instant happiness! Hic!"

"Huh?" Denevive's voice was muffled as he lay his head down on the table.

"Spirits!" she lifted another full shot and couldn't seem to get her hand to stop moving as she attempted to bring it to her lips. She pouted, her lips puckering as she tried to sip from the shot that seemed to be disobeying her orders to move closer. The liquor ended up being poured onto the table rather than in her mouth.

Denevive managed grab her hand, helping her put the shot glass down. He stood and staggered over to her. "I think I should get you home. . ." He took her arm across his shoulders and helped her to stand, ignoring her giggles.

"I know - what you're wondering." she hiccuped, "What's a place like me . . . doing in a girl like this? Hic!" She laughed. Both of them stumbled outside into the street, darkened profusely by the night and only lit by occasional street-lanterns. "Now - where did I - hic - park my horse?"

Both Celena and Denevive had a rather difficult time trying to remember where Celena's horse have been before, by sheer luck, they stumbled across the stables. The stable boy was still there to saddle Mystic and, lucky for them, or else they probably would have forgotten to do it completely. Denevive insisted that he escort her home, seeing as it was late at night and traveling the forest at such an hour was prime opportunity for bandits to take advantage of a lady. So both ended up riding Mystic back through the forest towards the Schezar manor.

"Whad I'd like t'know is . . . where does a sixteen yer'old girl learn to drink like you do?" asked the samurai from behind Celena. Both were slumped forward on the gently trotting animal.

"I'm almost seventeen." she protested weakly into Mystic's silver mane, her arms around the mare's neck to keep herself in the saddle. "And you shoulda seen me when I was around his crew . . . before they all left anyway. 'Cept Gaddes. He's still around and lookin' for the rest of them now that the Crusade is working again."

"Crew?"

"Yeah, for my brother's airship. Crusade. When I was first brought home - after my brother found me, they were all still 'round. I wasn't 'sactly in my wits back then and I was very impress'able. They thought I was a normal fifteen year old and invited me to have some drinks with them, me being Allen's sister and all. Though, I don't see what that's got to do with an'thing..." She could feel Denevive's body sagging against her back and when she heard him snoring, she knew he was asleep. She wanted to sleep too. "Mystic, you know the way, right? I'm gonna go to sleep and - you get us home. . ." After a weak pat on the horse's neck, she was soon snoring right along with Denevive. The horse only snorted in disapproval. Lucky for them, Celena's horse was smarter than average and kept on the path. Funny how luck seemed prominent that night.

"Mistress Celena!" said Misshel, hurrying over to the approaching horse. He had been outside on the steps of the Schezar manor for the past half hour, standing in the cold night and freezing right down to his knickers. He had been worried for his mistress since she left for town most suddenly, leaving very little word to anyone that she was leaving at all. Though, it was hardly very late at night, just past eight in the evening, she was gone for most of the day. He saw the white mare enter through the gates and trot towards the small courtyard in front of the house. He also saw that Celena was not alone.

"My lady!" exclaimed the red-headed servant, helping Celena down from the horse. She slumped onto him, moaning in exhaustion.

"Misshel." she said with a wistful, drunken smile. The word alone carried enough alcohol along her breath that made Misshel turn his head and wave away the tainted air. He pulled her arm across his shoulders, helping her to stand as best as he could. Denevive seemed to be able to stand on his own but was not noticed by either Misshel or Celena.

"Lady Celena," began Misshel nervously, "you're brother will not be pleased when he finds out you've been drinking."

Celena smiled again, bringing her finger to her lips. "Shhh...don' tell 'im." She giggled and let herself be led towards the house, stumbling lazily beside her supporting attendant. She cast a backwards glance towards Denevive, waving to him slightly. Misshel looked back only to glare at the half-elf.

Denevive was left standing out in the cold night air, waving back to his new friend. Everything was hazy and he didn't notice the stablekeeper coming out to take Mystic back to her stall. He sighed, thinking how wonderful it was to know Celena. She was quite the lovely young lady; tomboyish at times but lovely nonetheless. The look in her eyes was imprinted several times over in his mind; such a soft color of blue. Her hair the color of silver with a hint of blond in the short wavy strands. She was so understanding and open minded. She was the only thing on his mind.

He reached back to grab the reigns to his horse only to come up empty handed. Confused, he looked around. He did bring his horse with him, didn't he? "Zendell...Zendell, where are you? . . . . Zendell?" Denevive turned about, looking bleary-eyed and hoping his horse would answer his calls. Dismayed and with no horse, he sighed and started back down the path towards Palas.

"Gods, what a headache!" Celena woke up that morning in no better a state than she had the day prior. She had sat up in bed, still in yesterday's gown, holding a hand against her head. Her hair was tossed about and her face had been pale. The light hurt her eyes, moving hurt her head and she would have gladly stayed in bed for the rest of the day. Despite the throbbing in her skull, however, she could not help but remember such elation, excitement, and curiosity as to the discovery of Denevive's mysterious origin. Surely she should admonish him for his taking part in her poor brother's affliction but how could she? Everything was so confusing now that she didn't really know how to act. She only had to keep reminding herself that it was not Denevive's fault for what happened to Allen and that she would deal with her brother when the time came.

She now sat in front of her vanity mirror, letting Misshel brush her silver curls. Her eyes were squinted against the light even though she had insisted that the curtains were to be drawn. The room she had was designed facing east and every morning, the sun rose to wake her with its cheerful rays. Cheerful as an arse on a bald headed monkey, thought Celena grumpily.

"Serves you right, miss. You shouldn't have gone gallivanting around Palas with that - that boy." scolded the attendant.

"He's no younger than you, Misshel." retorted the girl, fixing the collar on her dress. It was of simple fashion but one of her favorites with a light blue bodice and white skirt and lace.

"However old he is, do you really think it would do your brother justice after what this Denevive fellow did to him?"

Celena stopped, turning her gaze away from the reflection in the mirror to stare at the surface of her vanity. "It's as much my own fault as it is Denevive's." She said softly, "Nothing would have happened if only I had been more patient."

Misshel stopped as well, putting the silver handled brush down. He looked down at his ward with kind eyes. "My lady, you were brave. You did what you had to because you love Master Allen. Whether you acted rationally or not, you still risked your own life."

"But - if I had waited, the king would have died and the duel would be called to a draw. Had I waited . . ."

"Celena, how would you have known to wait?" asked Misshel, deliberately addressing her informally. "For all anyone knew, either Denevive or Sir Allen would have been struck down by the other and you took the chance to stop it from happening. You did not know what the future would hold. This blame you place on yourself is not healthy but I cannot stop it." She only nodded in response, heaving a small sigh.

"Thank you, Misshel." she said, standing and hoping that no more of the subject would be spoken of. She wanted to get into the habit of visiting her brother at least once a day. Talking about the reasons behind everyone's actions that led to his condition only made her resolve for the visits even more frail than it was already. She tested the feel of her soft, white suede boots for a moment before leaving her room. So dark, she thought when she entered Allen's chambers. Of course, his room was on the opposite side of the hall where hers was located. It faced away from the sun in the mornings. He always liked to watch sunsets from his room just before releasing Natal out for his hunt, she thought.

The faithful pet owl Natal was still around when Celena was brought back home almost two years ago. She had watched her brother several times from his doorway as he performed the ritual, trying to understand how he had grown so much older when she still thought she was five (almost six). The truth about her disappearance was never revealed to her until she was old enough to handle such facts; mentally old enough anyway. No one really understood the supposed science of the Zaibach Sorcerers; after a while, no one cared. It seemed that whatever spell they had over Allen's dear sister had broken over a span of 18 months. It had taken great care, patience, and the fastest course of tutoring Asturia has ever known.

"Is he still asleep?" whispered Celena to the nurse. Nurse Claudine only looked up from her knitting long enough to give the girl a scrutinizing glance before returned to her work.

"Yes, still asleep he is, poor lamb. You best be leavin' him to that sleep if he's going to get any peace after he awakens."

Footsteps made by Celena's soft boots were thankfully very quiet as she approached the side of Allen's bed where he lay - and where Nurse Claudine kept careful watch over him. Fat, stupid nurse, Celena thought to herself as she squeezed past the rocking chair in which the nurse sat.

"Could I have a moment alone with him?" asked the girl as politely as possible. The nurse eyed her warily, taking a moment to think the decision over too carefully before complying.

"All right. Not too long now." Without another word, the woman stood and left, closing the door behind her as she went.

"Good morning, Allen." said his sister softly as she knelt by his bedside. What was she to say to him while he was in such deep sleep. Surely, this was silly of her to do; but it was important at the same time. She asked herself if this was for forgiveness, to make up for what she had caused him. Celena only chided herself even more for how could she make up for what her brother has lost - his life as he knew it. Things would be changed forever and it scared her to think about. What did the future have to hold for them? More importantly, for Allen?

"I don't know why I've come here." Celena continued in hushed tones, reaching for Allen's blond locks at his forehead. "I don't honestly know if I should come here. Seeing you like this . . . it hurts, brother. I don't think I could ever make up for what I did to you. You'll be so very angry with me, I just know it. But I still love you. I can wish for everything to be as it was, though it won't make any difference and I know it. If you still want me around you, I want to help you get better. Well - as better as you can be. Just know that I still love you and I'll always be there for you."

No response. Of course, Celena didn't really expect any. Though it seemed like a moment where a meaningful response was called for. Allen only slept on, trying to regain the strength and life's blood he had lost just two days ago. His distraught sister ended her visit with a kiss on his cheek, a fresh smell of lather and the soft feel of skin telling her that he had been shaven that morning. At least the fat nurse was taking care of him, which was more than she herself was doing. Again, plans were made to ride out into the city. She wanted to speak with Denevive again, about his heritage.

---------------------


	4. The morning after

**Chapter Three**

Mystic cantered down the short cobblestone path to the gates leading out of the Schezar estate, Celena closing her eyes for a few moments at a time due to the light. Bushes dotted with white blossoms lined each side of the path; patches of grass whipping past the horse's hoofs. Bushes, blossoms - booted feet . . .

"Whoa!" Said Celena, stopping her horse to stare at the strange discovery. She saw a man's legs, wrapped about in leather pants and hard leather boots on his feet. They faced towards the path and she could not see beyond the full, rotund topiaries. It made no matter, for Celena had a pretty good idea who this mysterious person was.

"Denevive!" She called. The disheveled samurai abruptly sat upright, startled. He looked about confusedly, several sticks and leaves having found a home in his long, thick brown hair.

"Huh? Wha - ?" Denevive groaned suddenly, holding his head and slumping over due to the pain that struck him. "Gods! What a headache... Where am I?" He squinted, trying to examine his strange surroundings through the white pain in his head. Looking up he could only see the silhouette of a lady on a horse as the bright morning sun was prominently shining through the trees of the courtyard.

"You're in our courtyard." answered the girl as she hopped off her horse. She looked down at him with a confused expression. "And I can only assume that you couldn't make it back to Palas last night."

"I really wonder what gave you that impression." Denevive attempted to stand, being helped up onto his feet by his shorter companion. He groaned again as he moved about. Celena already started trying to separate the variety of items from his hair.

"You shouldn't be moving about. If your head hurts as much as mine, we should both go inside and rest." She grabbed the reigns of her horse and led both her steed and Denevive back towards the front steps of the manor. He managed just as well, stumbling along side her while keeping a hand to his eyes closed to keep the light away.

"If that's the case, why were you set out to go for a ride? Are you masochistic and like provoking headaches for pleasure?" Denevive quirked a smile towards her. She grinned a bit and stared at the ground.

"Let's just go inside. I'm sure Mallie could fix us some nice tea to settle our aches."

"Will you not be riding into town today, Mistress Celena?" asked a confused Stablekeeper. The young, scruffy boy had been waiting by the porch of the manor to watch his mistress off and now only looked at her with a baffled expression. He was especially boggled when he saw Denevive appear from the bushes but decided to be tactful and keep any thoughts to himself.

"No, at least not yet." answered the girl, handing the reigns to the boy as she passed with Denevive in tow. "Please take Mystic back to her stall until I need her."

The stableboy obediently did as he was told and tugged the horse behind him as he started for the stables. He heaved the heavy wooden door open with one hand while keeping a tight grip on Mystic's reigns and briefly priding himself in his strength before entering.

With the white mare taken care of, and several others awaiting his attention, young Kush continued with his chores just as he always did. He reached for the hoof tools on the plank walls. A strong slim hand grabbed him, pulling him backwards. Before Kush could cry out for help, the same hand, enmeshed in a leather gauntlet covered his mouth.

"Quiet, boy. And I'll spare your life." Said the stranger, holding the boy still. Kush struggled, clawing at the strong arms about him but his efforts were in vain and he was forced to succumb to the man's grip. "There's a good lad. Don't struggle and you won't get hurt. I need some questions answered."

Kush, as soon as he felt the man's grip loosened, rushed for the tools on the wall and grabbed the first sharp object he could. He turned, threatening the cloaked assailant with the hooked end of a hoof pick. Even as the stable boy slashed the tool through the air, the cloaked one did not seem perturbed, lightly stepping away from the attack. This made Kush stop after a few moments, realizing he was not entirely in danger if he cooperated. Still, he held up the tool in defense.

"I promise you," continued the cloaked figure, holding up a nice piece of gold, "it will be worth your while if you agree to assist me." His head was hooded and hid most of his face, that which that only part that could be seen was his mouth turning up into a small grin. Kush lowered his weapon, in awe of the gold that was offered to him. "I'm looking for a young man by the name of Denevive."

Van entered his guest bedchambers, moving about the wardrobe in a flurry and gathering what few clothes he had brought with him for his trip to Asturia. He wanted out. He couldn't stand the place any longer and he had already taken enough time away from his growing kingdom. Since his arrival, everything seemed to have gone wrong. He had come to discuss peace. Instead, his impulsive young samurai accepted a place in a duel on behalf of his king and country. Fanelia had won that duel, but at the cost of his friend's health.

Allen . . . At the thought of his friend's current state, Van had to stop, oblivious to the shirt he clutched tightly in his hands. He had to shut his eyes for a moment as thoughts of the knight's miserable new future whirled in his head. What exactly was this world coming to? The king dead, a knight down and now his samurai missing since yesterday afternoon; It was almost too much. It was also no time to think about such things. He was sure Denevive would turn up eventually, the king's memorial was passed, and Allen - well, he'll just have to recover and go on with life.

That's what I need to do too, Van thought to himself as he once again continued gathering his belongings to prepare his departure, I've got to move on with my life and get out of this blasted country. He threw the shirt to the bed, clasping his hands behind his back as he began pacing the room. How to leave, he thought. He paced and paced and soon found himself near the window, gazing at the spires of Asturia's palace.

Van knew there were still things for him to do there. He sighed, leaning his elbows on the window sill in his bed chambers. "I still have to attend the king's funeral. Eries removed herself from royal succession and with Aston dead, Millerna would take the throne." He leaned lazily on his hands, his cheek pushed against his palm as he stared longingly out into the blue-sky world. "Then I'd have to stay for preparations for her coronation. And then the coronation itself . . ."

Pushing a hand against the glass of the window, it opened and let in a gentle breeze that playfully ruffled the boy-king's raven hair. The air felt fresh against his face and he absently smiled to himself. It was a beautiful day, despite the recent occurrences. Such a nice day and he was trapped in the stuck-up, condensed capital of Asturia. "Being a king really has it's downsides." Van muttered to himself. He was almost eighteen years old. He was a king, no less, and what was the element keeping him there? Van let out a hmph.

Jadik, Van's faithful chief advisor, strode confidently down the marble hall of the palace towards his king's chambers. There was yet another duty for his liege that Jadik must inform him of. He knew Van was feeling restless lately with all the commotion going on in this dreadful city. Kings going crazy, duels to the death, same king dying, people and limbs disappearing and all of it keeping the young king in the heart of the madness. It's no wonder why Van's going slightly off his rocker. Though there were still things to do and it would be hard for the young king. But Van is a good king, thought Jadik as he began to open the door to Van's chambers, and he would never run out on his people.

"My liege!" exclaimed the advisor, witnessing his king half-way out his bedroom window. "What in the gods' names . . ."

"Uh," Van began nervously, frozen as he was poised with his back end towards the brilliant day, "I saw some - birds?"

The kitchen of the Schezar manor was quiet. Neither Celena nor Denevive, seated at the small kitchen table, felt the need to speak. Both sat staring at a steaming cup of raspberry tea, heads throbbing from the hang over. The steam and aroma of the hot tea, however, seemed to slowly calm their aching heads. The smells of the kitchen, which faintly smelled of fresh baked bread from that morning, mixed strangely with the scent of raspberries.

"So, what are you still doing here?" Celena finally decided to ask. She made sure to be almost as quiet as whisper, for moderate to loud noises made her head feel worse. The light streaming through the windows was bad enough. Denevive brought a hand up to his head, slowly massaging his temples and squinting as he answered.

"Last I knew, I was walking back to the city. I must have," he cleared his throat, "passed out."

Celena couldn't find anything more to say. She only hummed and nodded. Taking a spoon from the saucer, she absently began to stir her tea and watched as the action created ripples in the red liquid. She heard Denevive take a sip of his tea before she heard him speak again.

"How's your brother?" he asked softly.

"Still asleep." It was easier that time, thought the girl, to answer about Allen's condition. Perhaps it would get easier over time. There was no doubt that the situation still weighed heavily upon her heart. What Celena didn't know is that Denevive felt very much the same way. Even though he had tried several times to convince himself that it was to defend his own life, he still felt guilty.

"And how are you doing?" he braved.

Celena huffed with a small smile. "I've got a brother missing an arm, an uncertain means of income, and a splitting headache." She took a sip of her tea.

"Uncertain means of income?" They weren't poor, were they? Surely by the looks of where the Schezars lived they were very much well-off at least.

"My brother, Denevive, is a Knight Caeli." She frowned, her heart suddenly sinking, "At least - he was. Gods, what are we going to do?" She leaned an elbow on the table, holding her head in her hand as she stared down into her cup. "We inherited our father's finances, you see. After my mother died, the family's accounts were frozen for a time since my brother was so young. Only eleven, I think. Or twelve, I can't be sure. It's a long story that I'm sure you don't want to get into."

"I won't be going anywhere for a time. I might as well learn more about your history. Learn more about you." He tried to flash her a smile, but mildly groaned at a sudden pain that struck his head. Celena sighed and prepared herself for a lengthy tale.

"My family has had very bad runs of luck in the past. I believe it all started when my father left one day without a word. I don't remember this very much since I was very young, but Allen told me what he remembered of the day. My father was a researcher and historian or something of the like. He documented all sorts of events and history throughout the known world. So it wasn't an unheard of occurrence if he up and traveled great distances. It was just when he didn't come back that mother began to wonder. Then when I . . ."

"He traveled great distances, you say?" interrupted the half-elf. "Perhaps, then, he would know of my people and where to find them."

Celena pursed her lips and tried not to look too annoyed with the interruption. "He would, I suppose. He's dead though. He has been for a long time now." Denevive's gaze lowered as his spirits where disheartened.

"That's saddening to hear, Celena. I'm sorry for your loss."

"I'm not." She scoffed, "Allen told me later that he left because he had married and bore children out of duty to family and wanted to break away from that duty."

"Surely your brother was simply telling you his bitter opinion." Denevive quickly dropped the subject when Celena glared at him. "Uh - Celena? Do you suppose your father might have kept records of some sort? Somewhere?"

The girl thought for a moment, pushing her silvery waves behind a delicate ear. "Well, yes. I believe everything he's ever worked on would be in his study. But," she heaved a small sigh, "I can't let you in there. That's become Allen's personal study now and I would prefer to ask his permission first. Gods only know when that might be." Somewhere upstairs, glass shattered abruptly. The sound was followed by several hurried footsteps, running about on the upstairs floor and finally romping down the stairs.

"Mistress Celena!" called a young, usually timid voice. A red-headed maid pushed through the kitchen doors, panting as she entered. Celena stood quickly, forgetting the tea and Denevive.

"What is it, Jeyla?" she asked.

"Master Allen is awake!"


	5. Discoveries

**Chapter Four**

"Denevive," said Celena, "you'd better go. To Palas. I'll have it arranged so that you can take one of our horses. You can return it at a later date." All of this was said in passing as she gathered her skirts and followed the maid out of the kitchen. Denevive followed behind, being led into the foyer. "Jeyla," she suddenly turned on the young fire-haired maid, "go see to Denevive's horse. I'll be busy."

Jeyla nodded and turned to summon the stable boy Kush. Denevive was left standing on the red carpet of the foyer, watching as Celena bounded up the stairs and disappeared as she turned a corner. He was alone. He looked about, examining the foyer of the Schezar manor. The front doors were just closing as Jelya went outside to fetch his horse. A small wooden table, made of dark cherry oak, stood in the corner. The vase placed on that same table was made to have ornate, ancient looking designs drawn in blue and white. It looked very old, very valuable.

Denevive's gaze fell on the double-doors across the hall from where he stood, made of the same dark wood. Maybe that was the study that Celena spoke of earlier, he thought to himself. He looked up towards the ceiling, muffled sounds of footsteps filling the foyer. Everyone was upstairs. Denevive took a breath, stepping up to the door and slowly placing his hand on the handle. His heart was pounding. Surely this was wrong of him to do, trespassing and the like. Though, he was sure that he wouldn't get another chance to find anything about his race. So he opened the door, quickly closing it behind him before he could think anyone saw him.

Inside this dust-filled room, Denevive felt suddenly claustrophobic. Bookshelves not only lined the walls but filled the entire room like a cramped library. Rows upon rows of bookshelves. There were not only filled with books but occasionally Denevive would catch sight of wondrous small artifacts stuck in between the leather bound tomes. Glints of gold, or a flash of ivory here and there captured the half-elf's attention for but a moment. He kept reminding himself why he was doing this. But what was he looking for?

Stepping forward through a small pathway between the bookshelves, he came to the other end of the room where a small window. The corners of the glass were filled with dust, letting in rays of sunshine that illuminated the dust particles flying about that would be otherwise hidden in the shadows. The room was very dusty. Perhaps, Denevive thought to himself, not even the maids were allowed into this room. The room was so quiet; he could hear nothing but the faint buzzing of his nervous system if he stood perfectly still. His boots made hollow sounds on the hard wood floor when he took a step. Each time he set his foot down, the sound made his heart beat wilder against his chest. He knew this was wrong and he had already begun to silently admonish himself for his mistake.

Was it really a mistake, though? He turned to his left and there saw a small desk tucked away in the corner. Beside it were more shelves overflowing with books. It was an old looking piece of furniture, this writing desk he now set his gaze upon. Perhaps it was even an antique. Everything seemed to be antique in this particular place of the Schezar manor. Even the collection of swords displayed above the desk looked old. With a slight smile, Denevive examined the swords, five of them parallel to each other on a fine wooden rack. He noticed the different designs and makes of the blades, not one of them similar to the other and he was easily able to identify each country the five swords came from.

"No time to dilly dally, you bloat." Denevive said to himself. He stepped up to the desk and scanned its surface. He saw nothing but parchment strewn about, paitences and bills to a variety of markets in Palas. Nothing else but a forgotten quill and ink well next to an ornately designed puzzle box. At least, he thought it was a puzzle box or maybe a writer's chest. It was a very small writer's chest, at the very least. It looked to be made of one solid piece of black onyx, painted with silver leaves and vines.

Denevive picked up the mysterious box and realized that it was not a box at all. It had no hinges with which to open the top. Not only that but he could not find a lip or groove to identify the part of the box that opens but he could hear something moving about inside it. How in the world did anything get in it without a way to open it. He brought it closer to his face, examining the detail of the vines when he noticed they weren't vines at all. It was so small and close together that from afar they looked like solid lines but were, in fact, runes of some sort. Writing of some unknown language. But what astounded the half-elf even more was that he could read it. He had to squint to see it but could barely make out a word . . .

Ki'Santh.

"Sir Denevive?" Upon hearing his name, Denevive stiffened. The box he found was still in his hands but hidden to the person speaking behind him. He quickly hid the artifact within the folds of his doublet, holding it close to his chest in a way to almost seem natural before turning. The red-haired maid, Jeyla, stood watching him with a horrified expression. "You mustn't be in here, sir." she continued in her jittery tone of voice, "The master will have my head if he finds out. Same for the mistress. Please, you must leave this place."

Swallowing and unable to say anything, Denevive only nodded and stepped past the nervous maid. He sensed Jeyla following close behind him. His arm was pressed to his side, feeling the box pressing against him beneath the leather of his doublet. It was harder to conceal such an object when handed the reigns to a horse, however, and he fumbled a bit when mounting the black flanked horse.

"Sir Denevive," spoke the stable boy Kush after helping Denevive mount, "a man came here looking for you."

"A man?" Denevive asked, curious. Suddenly he realized he the boy might be talking about, reminded of just how he had spent the night without telling his King of his whereabouts. He must be furious! And Jadik will be no less merciful. "Who was this man?"

Kush shook his head, now seeming more apprehensive to the half-elf as he looked down upon the lad. "He didn't say, sir. He - he didn't look like a very nice fellow, really. He offered me gold to tell him where you were. So I sent him to Freid and told him he could find you there."

"And he believed you?" Denevive face showed a slight smile and raised eyebrow in amusement, hiding the fact that the news disturbed him somewhat. When he saw Kush nod, Denevive managed a small chuckle, "You did good, lad. If this person truly went to Freid, by the time he returned to mend his mistake I shall be far from Asturia. I thank you humbly for what you did. Did he threaten you?"

Kush hesitated, scratching at his scruffy black crop of hair. "He didn't really hurt me. So long as I told him where to find you. And I even got a nice piece of gold for it." He held up the coin proudly, letting it shine in the mid-day sun. He let Denevive take it in hand to examine it, not knowing that looking at it so closely was only to humor the boy.

"Rewarded for lying, eh?" Denevive laughed lightly, turning the coin over in his hand. He suspected it was a piece of Asturian currency but he had never seen the symbols that were on the particular coin in his hand. Yet, he had seen them. The same runes as the ones on the box, and the same word he could read. Ki'Santh.

"Well," continued the boy, digging his toe in between the grooves of the cobblestone pathway, "Sometimes I take part in small plays at the Tugg'n'Lo Theater. I want to be an actor when I grow up. So I wasn't lying, really. I was acting." Kush grinned, his reward pressed back into his palm by a now somber samurai. "Are you all right, Sir Denevive?"

"Yes, I'm fine." answered the half-elf absently, "Thank you for preparing the horse for me. And I'm sure you'll make an excellent actor some day. Don't ever let go of your dreams. You might never know what secret treasure lies just beyond them."

"Yes, sir." piped the happy boy. His nervousness was forgotten with the smile Denevive flashed him before spurring the horse. Kush stood watching as the samurai galloped away on Allen's faithful steed.

Everything was rushed when Celena entered her brother's chambers. The sight galled her. The nurse and another maid were noisily cleaning up a shattered water pitcher while Allen's faint calls were left fairly ignored. When Celena had entered, the maid had immediately tried to explain that Allen woke up with such a start that it frightened Jeyla to the point of dropping the pitcher. Where was Nurse Claudine during all this? Celena didn't have the mind to ask.

"Leave the blasted pitcher and clean it up later. For goodness sake, give my brother and I some peace!" Neither nurse nor maid questioned the young girl's commanding tone and did as was asked of them, leaving Allen and Celena completely alone. She knelt by his bedside, like she had done just that morning, ignoring the water that seeped at her knees. He had been calling for her, saying her name over and over in whispers. It's no wonder the maid and nurse didn't hear him.

"Celena?" whispered Allen hoarsely, coughing lightly.

"I'm here, brother. I'm right here." She didn't notice herself gripping his bedspread. She could already feel herself shaking at the core from the apprehension and knew it would soon spread ten fold throughout her body if she did not control herself.

"Why . . . why can't I move?" he asked. He turned his head, his eyes heavy and his face pale. Strands of his golden hair clung to his damp face.

"You're still weak, Allen. You need rest." She smiled slightly, "But I'm glad you're awake now. I didn't want the nurse taking care of you anymore. Now that you're awake, I can take care of you."

"Was it a dream?" Allen managed to ask. Celena's breath caught in her throat at that moment before she felt herself gasping. She couldn't let herself cry here and certainly not now.

"No." she whispered. It was Allen's turn to gasp, swallowing what little moister he had in his mouth before finding his left arm. He moved it out from beneath the thick covers, heavy as it must have been for him, and slid his hand across his chest to his right side. His lips pursed and he winced as he felt the monstrosity that was now his right side. So this was his fate, he thought grimly, gingerly feeling the bandaged stump of his right arm. Though Allen's mind was still too dazed to fully understand exactly what sort of impact this would have on his future.

Thoughts now whirled about in the fallen knight's mind. He had achieved so many great things at such a young age; so many things that men spend their whole lives trying to accomplish. Allen had done it all before the age of twenty. Ruefully, he supposed that it was only natural that his great achievements ended at that particular point in his life. Was it punishment for his sins? Did the gods simply not favor him any longer? He had, after all, fathered an illegitimate son through consorting with royalty. He had been a bandit during years where everything seemed lost to him, robbing and injuring defenseless travelers on the roads of the swamplands. He took advantage of so many different people in his life and perhaps, to keep his ego in check, such a loss was called for. It all seemed so ironic to him just then, when he thought his life was finally at peace. He laughed. It began lightly, as a huff of slight amusement before progressing to a chuckle and soon he nearly roared with laughter.

Celena stared at him, if in shock or sympathy she could not say. All the girl knew was that within the last few moments, her brother had gone mad. She didn't think she could take much more of his morbid amusement, standing and covering her mouth, watching him with wide, tear-filled eyes. Allen lay in bed, shaking slightly from his laughter and Celena had to wonder how he even had the energy to laugh so enthusiastically. The laughter changed at that moment, when Allen brought his left and only hand to his face in an attempt to hide it. He was only half successful, unable to completely cover his face and lacking another hand. It was then that Celena heard the laughter change into tears.

Allen cried. His sister's heart, already fragile from emotional wear, finally shattered with the first sounds of the knight's sobs. Celena had never seen a grown man cry before but didn't think anything could be worse than watching her brother cry so adamantly. There she stood by his bedside, crying along with him. Only after while did she try to touch him, tenderly at his hairline to brush away stray locks of blond hair. Her hand was quickly batted away. She whimpered.

"Leave me be." Allen said hoarsely, not caring for her or anyone. As far as he was concerned, she only led him to this fate.

"I'm sorry." she said quietly. Perhaps she knew what he was thinking at that moment and apologized for what she thought she caused him. Or did she apologize for trying to comfort her distraught sibling? Allen didn't care. He only pushed her hands further away from him as she tried to adjust the bedspread back over him.

"Go away!" he fairly yelled, "leave me alone! Just leave me, for gods' sake! Leave me!" The last word he choked, covering his face once more. Celena sniffed, her lips in a trembling frown before turning away and running out the door.


	6. I hate chapter titles

**Chapter Five**

Palas was a very large city. An enormous city with a maze of streets and water canals. Most of the city filled the crest of land created by the surrounding mountains. The only way out was over or through the mountains or by sea. Towards the south of city was the airship port, up on a hill up against the crest of the mountains. In the east, on a high grassy cliff facing the sea were the cemeteries. The graves were marked with the symbol of Asturia's sea god Jeture, the sea serpent. Below that cliff point was the rest of the nation's capital, separated into so many different districts and neighborhood. Denevive had to wonder how anyone could ever find his or her way in this city. Bridges and ramps were everywhere and the Fanelian didn't know which to take to get back to the palace.

The palace, thought Denevive as he trotted carefully down the streets on his horse, who in the world would name a city after a building? The palace in Palas. It's probably been a common confusion for Asturians. He shook his head, a small, amused grin on his face. He didn't know what was in the tea he had earlier with Celena but it certainly helped dissipate the headache. He suddenly wondered how she was, now that Allen was awake which caused for his hasty departure; and the wondrous treasure still hidden beneath his doublet. He got to thinking about its strange shape and make. At first he thought it must have been a small writer's chest but the shape was different. He finally decided that it looked more like a scroll case, since it was long and rectangular. But it was strange that there was no way to open it. Perhaps there was, though he would have to examine it closer.

Finally fed up with wandering about the city streets, he subjected himself to a small bout of embarrassment and asked a passerby how to get to the palace.

"The palace, you say?" said the older gentleman, seemingly on his way to deliver a large sack of something-or-other. "You're going the wrong way, lad. With a horse, you can't go this way. The canal entrance is this way. You've got to turn back around and head for the land gate. What do you want to go to the palace for, anyway? What with the king dead and all, you wouldn't be able to petition for anything until after the princess' coronation . . ."

"Th-thank you, good sir." Interjected Denevive before the man went off on a tangent the Samurai had no time for. With a brief farewell to the commoner, he set his horse off in a trot again. As he rode, he plucked the mysterious box from under his doublet and examined it while he trotted along the cobblestone. It was rather beautiful to look at, perhaps the reason behind the Schezars keeping it as a decorative artifact. Surely they must have noticed the faint sounds of something rumbling about inside the object, however. And the strange, almost microscopic writing in the painted vines around the edges . . . No matter. He would take a look at it himself now that it was in his possession.

He came to a corner blocked by a water canal. This was getting him no where. Turning his horse back around, who neighed softly in protest, Denevive grumbled to himself. Honestly, how could _anyone_ possibly live in such a maze of a city? Back over the bridge he came from, left instead of right this time ñ someone must have been drunk on Asturian _vino_ when they designed this city.

Off in the distance, the enormous white pillars of the coliseum could be seen from Denevive's standpoint. It suddenly made the young samurai shudder at the thought of what occurred in that arena. How would he be able to hold a sword the same way again? True, he had seen his share of blood and battles but the man he maimed not too long ago . . . that man had been someone Denevive looked up to a great deal. The samurai's swordmaster would speak tales of Balgus, one of the three great swordsman of Gaea. Denevive's swordmaster, too, had been one of those three. It was known that Balgus had served Fanelia and taken in the princes Folken and Van Fanel as his pupils. It was also known to Denevive that Balgus, during a spirit quest, came across a young blond haired bandit. The bandit was confident in his skill and ignorant of Balgus' reputation. Needless to say, the bandit was quickly disarmed. After he pleaded for an end to his life because of his loss, the great Swordmaster decided to take one last pupil under his wing. Thus, Allen Schezar regained his honor and name.

For what, thought the samurai, To have his dignity and livelihood taken away by his rival? In a duel over territory, no less. There was no logic in this, he thought, no logic at all. Again and again, Denevive would tell himself that it wasn't supposed to be this way. They should have done something to stop such a ridiculous event; anything! Instead, he had to be impulsive and brave . . . and careless. The half-elf gulped. Why think of this now? It's useless, for what could he possibly do to change it. The past is the past and he cannot erase what he had done. And he _had_ done it, hadn't he? He simply had to face up to the fact that _he _was the one who caused this new suffering; for Allen as well as Celena. He never intended for this suffering but it was done.

Denevive felt his hands tremble and he had to tighten the grip on his reigns. How long had he been traveling on this road now? It seemed like a very long time but it was thankfully very frequented by the locals. A main street, he reasoned. He shifted around the grip he had on the box to hold the reigns. Soon the mystery shall be opened.

Beds made such awful noises. Denevive never really noticed what irritating sounds the springs of a bed made before. Why would he notice now more than any other time? His room was quiet, aside from the obnoxious squeaking as he shifted uncomfortably on the mattress. The two other samurai that accompanied their king on the accursed journey to Asturia were apparently out with their liege to fulfill some other useless duty. Accursed journey indeed. They had won the duel and kept their land. What was so bad about everything that happened? And why must the question of "Was it really so bad?" plague Denevive to point of ripping his hair out from his scalp?

Mysterious boxes that wouldn't open became rather obnoxious as well. Solid onyx glistened with the light coming from the window as the stone was turned over countless times in Denevive's hands. No way to open it at all and he certainly wouldn't break it. Besides, it would take lot of effort just to crack the smooth stone artifact. Whatever item that was inside could be heard rattling against the walls of the box and this only frustrated the half-elf even more. After all the frustration spent try to find the palace, being yelled at by Jadik for going missing for more than a day without saying where he was going, to come to the peace and quiet of his room only to fiddle around with a hopeless item . . .

It had called to him, however. Not only was he able to read the strange word but he realized he was drawn to it by some unknown force deep within him. Though it stilled called for him, Denevive began to wonder if it only mocked him now. He stopped turning it about in his hands, examining it closely again. A sigh came from him as he brought it close to his face, his violet eyes widening as his hands brushed against the sides of the oblong box. The faintest, most mysterious discovery was suddenly made when Denevive realized the small, thumb-sized indents in the stone.

Funny, thought Celena, how Allen's room could seem so much darker with the curtains open rather than having them drawn. It must have been a psychological occurrence. Not that Celena would know anything about psychology. Though, it seemed that most things around her darkened since Allen's awakening. The strange fit that had passed over him could be heard from the hall, just outside of his room where Celena had sat huddled against the door. She had sat there and listened to her grown brother cry, tears streaming down her own face and wishing she had the strength lift herself up and escape from the heart wrenching sounds from his stricken sobs. Eventually, Allen's slight madness had passed and Celena had been able to re-enter his chambers and help him in his bedridden state.

Carefully, she spooned the thick herbal broth into his awaiting mouth. He ate slowly, as if saving his strength for some great test ahead. Laden with its cargo of precious soup, Celena noticed the long silvery spoon quivering. It took her a few moments to realize that it was not the spoon quivering, but her hand. The reminder of her edgy state only enhanced the shock embedded in her from her earlier encounter with Allen. Unable to control the tremulous dance of the spoon, the warm liquid spilled. To Celena's eyes, the slow-motion decent of the pungent broth was full of rigid suspense. As it splashed the blond-haired knight, Celena darted forward to wipe the embarrassment away.

"I'm sorry." She breathed as she swiped the cloth and dabbed his chin clean. Her tone was filled with a near horror by the actions her ineptitude caused. As she finished cleaning the renegade liquid, she noticed the apparent inaction of her older brother. Looking at his face, one might think that Allen's attention focused on another world, a place far away from the bed in which he reclined. Allen's lack of response unsettled Celena. Afraid for her brother and herself, and of the world in which they now must live, a world where Allen's dignity was in shambles, Celena climbed into bed next to her brother.

Cuddling close to him, and suddenly her head on his shoulder, Celena was unaware of the almost imperceptible tilt of her brother's head against her own as she tried to forget the life they would have to face together.


	7. Confrontations

**Chapter Six  
**

"Gah!" said Celena in disgust. She slammed a jar full of yellowish preserves onto the counter in the kitchen, next to a growing collection of different colored jams. "Honestly, can't people think of anything else to give Allen for a get well present? How many baskets have we received now?"

"About eight, miss." Mallie responded as she left the room to answer the door. Celena was left sorting out the different fruit flavors of preserves when the cook came back, carrying two wicker baskets. "Make that ten. We've just received one from the Rochelli's and one from the Tantelon's. How nice of the Lady Yvette to think of Master Allen. You'd think the woman spent all of her time in front of her mirror in her beaudois."

Celena wasn't paying attention, concentrating on counting all the jars of jelly and different assortment of fruits they had received. All of the baskets included letters of condolences from their senders; courtiers who thought they had a chance with the dashing, blonde-haired knight.

"We'll be having a lot of toast for breakfast," muttered Celena, briefly wondering if bird-headed court ladies even knew how to make fruit preserves. Finally fed up, she stepped back from the counter, her foot crunching down on an empty basket. With a good kick, it flew across the room. "And to think, they bothered sending raspberries!" roared the girl, gathering jars in her arms to put them in the pantry. "He _hates_ raspberries! Those idiots haven't an ounce of sense in their heads!"

Mallie winced slightly as she heard Celena slamming jar after jar onto the shelves in the pantry, while she tried preoccupying herself with gathering the baskets. Coming back out into the kitchen, she didn't so much as glance at the bent-over cook as she walked briskly past her and the mound of wicker.

"I'm going to see my brother." she said irritably. "I don't want to be disturbed while I'm with him. If anyone comes for me - tell them off on my behalf." Mallie was left staring after Celena, watching with a confused expression as the girl left the room.

"What are _you_ still doing here?"

Nurse Claudine looked up, holding a basin with a large collection of bandages in it. Celena almost thought she saw a sneer on the pudgy nurse's face before she realized she was being ignored. Claudine went right back to her business, setting down the bandage-filled basin and preparing to change the dressings on Allen's wound.

Celena glowered.

"I want you to leave at once." she said, but to no effect. Briefly glancing at her brother, still lounging on his bed with a vacant expression, she confidently approached the fat woman. "Did you hear me? You're dismissed from this house."

The nurse snorted. "And who do you think you are givin' me orders, girly?" Her tone was laced thickly with forbidding. "You are in no position to give _me _orders, nor is your poor brother. I'm here by the request of Doctor Magoli, whom Sir Allen is under the care of." With that said, she hmphed and picked up a roll of bandages.

Celena almost turned red with the anger that rose up inside her, turning her ears pink and her pursed lips white. "Out! _Out_! OUT, you over-grown half-wit of a nurse!" She made a grab for the nurse's arm, successfully pulling her away from Allen's bed but the rest of the fight was an incredible struggle between the two.

While the two women pushed and shoved and occasionally pulled hair (Celena making an extraordinary move to yank off Claudine's wimple), Allen merely sat staring past them with his eyes half-closed. He blinked, his vision was blurred and he saw only a mesh of color and light moving rapidly about him. Sound suddenly opened up around him, as the noise of Celena and Claudine's brawl broke through his stupor. The clattering cacophony assured him that the room was being torn apart. The tremendous crash of the water pitcher breaking into a million pieces was the last straw. The entire manor could probably hear them. As the blurred images finally came into focus, he watched just in time to see Celena reach for his sword, displayed on the wall in all of its pearly white brilliance and emblazoned with the seal of Asturia.

The sword was unsheathed, the white scabbard still in Celena's hand while in the other she held the blade threateningly towards Claudine, who was struggling to stand. A look of fear was all Celena wanted to create in the insolent nurse, not really intending to hurt the fool.

"You're crazy!" screamed the nurse, gripping the post on Allen's bed with wide, bird-like eyes. "You're crazy! The madman Dilandau still lives in you! A demon like you should have been killed when they had the chance, but your brother was too kind hearted to see to it! The rumors are true! I hope you meet your end soon, Dilandau!" Claudine seethed with every word, her voice filled with hatred. She moved to swipe her fallen wimple from the floor, feeling a rush of air sweep just passed her ear. When she looked down, she saw a small lock of her curly golden hair (the part at her hairline that always stuck out of her wimple). Already overwhelmed with shaking, she scrambled out from under the sword's reach and ran for the door.

Celena would have felt more triumphant with the nurse's defeat (if one could call it that) had it not been for the cruel words that came from Claudine's wretched mouth. She, a demon? Celena knew what she once was, what evil forces transformed her into, but she was very certain that she would never be that evil incarnation again. Without really thinking about it, she sheathed the sword of the Knights of Caeli that belonged to her brother, shaking right down to the core. She winced as it dropped to the floor, her grip on it loosened from her endless trembling.

"Celena," began Allen in a whisper. He was looking at her; not at the nothingness that he seemed enraptured with since yesterday morning but directly at her. Unable to speak, Celena met his gaze nervously. He continued, "What do you think you're doing?"

Did he not just hear every word that came from the nurse's filthy mouth? No, of course, Celena reasoned as she gulped, why should he be so concerned with her feeling when he was broken? "I'm -- I'm sorry, Allen. I didn't think . . . ."

"That's right." he said suddenly, his tone dangerously low, "You didn't think, did you?"

"I didn't mean her any harm..." Celena protested quietly, her voice shaking and her hands growing clammy.

"Just like you didn't mean me any harm." Allen looked away briefly, only briefly, before turning a glowering gaze on her again. "It's never your true intention to trip things up, is it? You always have to meddle. You always have to be in the middle of it. And now look what you've done."

Celena was staring at him. Never in her life had she heard such cold words come from his mouth. He was always the one to protect her -- he had always been there for her and now he was so lost and confused, he had turned his back on her in his bitterness. "Allen, p-please . . . I didn't . . ."

"Look at me." he said quietly.

Celena immediately turned her head away.

"LOOK AT ME!" he boomed suddenly. Celena jumped, snapping her gaze back towards him. "I am crippled because of you! You, precious sister, who had to interfere with plans already made solid! You did this to me! Nothing more than a worthless shell of man am I now, all thanks to you. You! I should be damned for letting you back into my life! I could have been left with peace!" He smiled awkwardly, "I could have been left with all of myself . . . All of it . . ." Allen groped his stump, his eyes narrowing and his face contorting.

Before Celena could lose her heart as it melted into a worthless lump, she had to consider his fragile mental state. As she stood there, wide-eyed and shaking like a leaf on a tree, she even had to wonder how she could remind herself of such a considerate thought after just being insulted. It took her a moment to realize that Allen had once again broken down into tears. Somehow, her feet unstuck from the floor and she forced herself to move to his bedside. His hair was thin and a bit greasy to the touch but she didn't care and slowly combed it out of his face as his body shook with silent sobs.

She wasn't crying this time. "Allen, please . . ." she began, not really knowing what to say.

"Shut up." he replied bitterly, trying to push her hands away but she did not move. Instead, she drew nearer to him, sitting next to him on his bed. After a moment, she even dared herself to put her slender around about his shoulders.

"I love you, brother." She said quietly, forcing the words out of her choked throat and trying desperately to ignore the pit in her stomach. Allen said nothing in reply for quite sometime, only sitting with his head turned towards his stump, body shaking slightly while he let his sister comfort him. After a few moments, he spoke again.

"I wish - to take a bath, Celena." he sniffed slightly, straightening a bit before giving Celena a weak, almost imperceptible smile. "I must wreak of something awful."

For the first time in her brother's presence since the accident, she smiled back at him. "Yes, you do. But then, you've always had that particular aroma about you, brother. At least mother still loved you." For a brief moment, Celena braced herself for another attack at her impulsive joke but she was gladly met with more of a smile this time.

Allen swallowed. "Will you . . . have a bath prepared for me then?"

"Yes, of course I will. I'll have Jeyla do it right away."

Another awkward moment silence. Then Allen said: "Jeyla . . . how many water pitchers have been broken so far?"

Celena shot a glance at the scattered shards of white ceramic left about the floor. She cringed and answered. "I think that would make two, now..." Allen nodded. Another moment went by before Celena gathered herself up and headed for the door to tell Jeyla about the bath. Allen called to her before she left.

"Yes, Allen?" she asked, turning.

Allen licked his lips and took a breath. "I'm sorry."

Celena smiled again, nodding. "It's okay." And she left the room.

----------------------

Well, short but sweet, what can I say? I'm sorry I'm writing so slowly... I lost my inspiration but I think I've found it again. I do hope all who are reading this are enjoying it. There IS going to be a point to all of this nonsense very soon - adventure and the like so bear with me please . . . and don't stop writing those reviews... they make me feel better on a bad day. smiles

C. Selene Belyea


	8. It's all about love

**Chapter Seven**

Celena came down the stairs of her home, her pace much slower as compared to the day before when Allen had awakened. She had many things on her mind now, however, and not all of them were good. First there were the nasty things mentioned by Horrible Nurse Claudine; Celena had never faced any sort of animosity since her return from her male alter-ego. This alone had made her nervous around the common folk of Asturia, for she had learned, when her mind was well enough to handle such news, of the destruction Dilandau Albatou caused her country.

At first she took the news remarkably well, feeling confident once in her own stead and self that she would remain the girl she had once been. Though, somehow she knew . . . some part of Dilandau was still inside her and manipulating how she thinks and what she likes and does. Her love of swordplay, her wild and spontaneous air. Even she had to admit that she was quite tomboyish, Allen having told her once that she used to love such girlish things like flowers, new dresses and so on. She supposed she still liked flowers, having her own flower bed in their garden. Dresses . . . well, she wore simple gowns with less frills than her mother had ever worn. Then again, styles have changed drastically since ten years ago. Though, if Celena had her choice, she would be most comfortable in a pair of trousers so as to not interfere with her sword training.

She couldn't quite explain her spontaneous nature, however, and she had to think long and hard - beyond the ten year gap of darkness in her memory - if she had ever been so carefree in her actions. Why had she interfered with something so important as Allen and Denevive's duel? Surely she trusted her brother to do what was right and he would have played out the duel long enough to devise a plan, or even feign injury. It would have given them enough time to call the duel to a draw as the flop of a king went good and dead.

Celena suddenly felt her knees ache slightly as she had been standing on the stairs, ready to take the next step down, for a good minute while she lost herself in her thoughts. Promptly pulling her head out of the clouds, she came to the first floor landing and there stood, staring at the doors to the study . . . which were slightly ajar. Her eyebrow arched inquisitively at the sight, knowing that no servants were allowed in that room, she approached the door and pushed it open. It swung with a dull creaking noise and revealed the cramped dusty library. Denevive stood at the back of the room, his back to the door. His long, brown hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, much like it had been the day of the duel.

"Denevive!" she hissed, quickly looking behind her and closing the door before anyone saw or heard her. Denevive spun around, looking even more shaky than usual. Approaching him, her brow still curved in a neat and curious arch, she asked in a suspicious tone, "Why do I always find you around my house in such strange and surprising ways?"

But Denevive ignored her question and held out the puzzle box in his hands. "I'm sorry, Celena. I would have properly rang the bell or knocked but - with your brother awake, I did not want to start any sort of commotion. Besides," he licked his lips and took in a trembling breath, his face filled with a mixture of anxiety and excitement, "I've found something rather fascinating. Remarkable, even."

Celena looked at the oblong box with silver vines of intricate designs around the edges, recognizing it right away. "That's my father's puzzle box!" Her gaze then snapped back up to Denevive's anxious face, "You _snitched_ it!"

"Now, I meant to give it back - sort of. I . . . I usually don't do such things, immoral as they are to steal and trespass but - I can't explain it properly. Something lured me here, something powerful and almost," he laughed slightly, perhaps knowing how insane it would make his statement sound, "magical. I had to, you see . . . borrow this - puzzle box, did you say? Yes, that's what I thought it was too but then I took a closer look and . . . "

"Denevive," Celena began calmly, holding up her hand to halt his rapid speech, "You're not making any sense. Please calmly explain why you're in my brother's study." Her eyes were wide with slight anger but luckily not as livid as Denevive had imagined she would be.

"I told you. I didn't want to alert your brother of my presence around you quite yet. Not sure how he would take it. Uh - where is Sir Allen? Still in bed?"

"If you must know, he's in the bath right now." Replied Celena in a somewhat bitter tone.

"Oh, he's up and about again then? Jolly good! I'll want to speak with him as soon as he's done."

"I - don't think that would be wise." Her brow was furrowed at his prior statement. Honestly, Denevive going to see Allen about a silly little puzzle box that's been in the family since she could remember. Had Denevive lost his senses since the duel as well? Briefly, Celena supposed that must happen when you take a man's arm off with your sword. Nevertheless, there had to be a point to all this. If nothing else, she wanted to know what caused him to possess their property. "Tell me, then. Why did you steal the puzzle box? Find your time up at the palace a bit dull and needed to fidget with a toy, did you?"

"No, not all. Let me explain." He took a breath, bringing the puzzle box up and giving Celena a closer look at the painted silver vines around the onyx surface. "Look in-between the leaves on the vines. It's very small but you can still make it out."

Gullibly taking the bait, Celena craned her neck forward and squinted, staring at the suggested spot on the box. For a moment her eyes widened a bit in surprise and Denevive felt another wave of excitement. His heart then fell when she said, "Runes. How interesting. But what's that got to do with anything?"

"Can't you read what they . . .?" No, of course not, Denevive concluded. Although he wasn't disappointed quite yet. Pursing his lips, his questions continued. "Do you know where your father found this magnificent object?"

"Magnificent indeed." Celena scoffed, "It's just a silly toy."

"Yes, a puzzle box, you said. But - have you ever solved it?" Denevive's eyes suddenly danced, twinkling with an odd light Celena had never seen in a human being before - it was an attractive feature to see in such deep violet irises.

"Well, er . . . No, not really." Stammered the girl, once again captured by Denevive's exotic and handsome features. She hadn't felt that fluttering feeling in her stomach since the first night she'd met the samurai and, she thought happily, perhaps this relationship did mean something more than what Allen had thought it was - puppy love. Snapping out of her brief moment of reverie, Celena looked at the box curiously and then looked to Denevive once more. "Why? Have you solved it?"

Instead of explaining, the samurai decided that actions spoke louder than words. With a light tap of his fingers on the appropriate spots, Denevive held the hand with the box out, as if for inspection. For a moment nothing happened. Then, slowly, but with increasing speed, the box began to fold back on itself. An odd song, the sound of ringing chimes softly filled the air of the study. Pieces of the intricate box shifted their place, trading places with other pieces. Back and forth they moved, over and under each other in a dizzying display of speed and efficiency. Remarkably, the box appeared like the bulb of a rose, blooming in the afternoon sun. The box began to take another recognizable shape, one of a one by one and a half foot board. The intricate carvings fell into place, creating coasts and land masses; Islands and seas, forests and deserts. Within moments, the transformation was complete.

Held lightly in Denevive's hand was a wooden map, delicately engraved with the visage of the world. As if being offered on a platter, a glinting ring and a rolled scroll with a broken seal stood. Denevive smiled as if he had just performed the greatest magic trick the world had ever known.

"What in the name of the gods . . .?" Celena could only stare now, with her mouth hanging open and her stomach making summersaults. It was the most spectacular sight she had ever lay eyes upon and it was something that was under her nose the entire time. Although questions still lingered in her head, she had to struggle to get her voice to work once more, "What does it mean? How did you . . ."

Denevive then became more somber at this question: What does this mean? He had asked himself that as well, having gazed down at the letter with a strange seal depicting the same runes that he saw on the gold coin and in the silver vines of the box. "Read the letter." he suggested softly.

Slowly, Celena reached for the scroll of parchment, the seal having already been broken, and unrolled it. She read:

I can only assume that one of my bloodline has received this letter. The box in which this letter, the ring, and map had traveled in was safely enchanted so that only those of my blood may open it. I implore that this message go to my father in Palas, Asturia. Father, if you are reading this, I must first ask for your forgiveness. I know we did not part in the kindest of means but I hope to have earned your respect with this news: I am successful! My research and thirst for truth have not been in vain. I have discovered the Forgotten Continent. It is such a sight to behold! No human dwells in these lands, for it is protected and hidden from us. The barrier is of a magical means that cloaks the entire continent from human eyes! It is a land of the fey, called Aelyria by those who live here.

Though I would wish to go on about all my wonderful discoveries here in Aelyria, it is not the main purpose for sending this message to you. I send you a warning but I cannot dwell on details, should this letter fall into the wrong hands. I only ask that you come to Aelyria but you must make haste, for I know not when you shall be in danger. All I know is that the event will occur soon, for that is what I'm told by the Elves here in Ki'Santh. I live here now, with the elves, after they told me that great disaster shall befall all the rest of Gaea, but leaving Aelyria unharmed. The map should help you find the course to the continent, and the ring will allow passage through the barrier.

One condition that I must ask of you, Father. You mustn't tell anyone else about the prophecy that I have mentioned, by order of the Council of Ki'Santh. They had to make an exception for me, and an even greater one to allow you, as my family, passage to their homelands. Please do not think ill of them. It is only to protect themselves. I'm sure you understand. Make haste, Father, and prepare everyone well for the journey. Tell my mother, and brothers that I love them and hope to see them soon.

Love,

Regina Viran

"Are you related to this woman? Regina?" asked Celena when she'd finished reading the letter. Looking up again, she saw Denevive's face even more anxious than before.

"I must be. I don't know how but she had mentioned in the letter that only one of her bloodline may open the box. That must be the reason why no one has been able to open it. I could feel it though," his tone softened significantly, almost thinking to himself, "And I felt it. I still can - magic is humming through the entire object. The map, the ring, even that letter."

"Viran . . ." said Celena contemplatively, looking down at the signature of the woman. "I've never heard of them before. This Regina . . . she said it was meant to be sent here, to Palas. What coincidence that it should fall in the hands of someone who lives in the very same place. I will have to ask Allen where my father found this object." She made a bit of a "tsk" noise, shaking her head, "I would know if their was a family by the name of Viran here. My brother made me memorize all the noble families in the upper class district, you know . . ."

"They're gone." said Denevive, even more sober than before. "I've already investigated some history of Palas and its inhabitance. The Viran family was nobility, indeed, but . . ."

"But what, Denevive?" She prodded gently.

"They were all killed . . ."

Celena exclaimed immediately, "What! I've heard no news of any murders around . . ."

"They were killed almost a century ago." Denevive finished calmly. Celena stared again.

"This is making less sense." she said after a moment. "If the entire family line here - never mind in," she checked the letter again, "A - leer - ia? What a strange name . . ."

"It's elven."

"How do you know?"

Denevive shrugged. "I just do. I can't explain it." He set down the wooden board of the map on the table behind him, the golden ring rocking slightly as it was jostled, it's foggy white stone glinting slightly in the dust-filled light.

"Well, how can Regina not know that her family had been killed? She sent this message with the knowledge of something very grave befalling Gaea - surely she would know if her family still lived. And if that is the case - if she had indeed sent this message with the fact that she knew her family was still alive . . . she would have sent it almost one hundred years ago. So, my question is . . . how in the world can you be related to someone who lived one hundred years ago. I mean, you're only . . ." It suddenly occurred to Celena that she had never asked Denevive how old he was. After all, it seemed like such a trifle thing. He looked young enough for her to deem worthy of an escort. Then there was the way Denevive was gazing at her, making her insides churn even more than they had before. "No. No, you couldn't be - no older than . . . how is that possible?" She asked frantically, taking a breath, "Denevive, how old are you?"

Denevive sighed, hanging his head slightly and making his brunette bangs fall over his face. "Celena," he began softly, "I'm almost eighty years old." It broke his heart when he saw her eyes fill with tears, their deep sapphire orbs glistening with moister made her stunningly beautiful. Her silver curls, bobbed slightly as she trembled. His smile was slight and charming, his arms ever gentle as they reached around her and brought her small frame closer to himself. Such a tender embrace, thought Denevive when he felt her arms tighten around him. He closed his eyes, his smile widening a bit.

"You don't have to worry, love." he said softly into her soft hair, "Everything will be fine. My age doesn't matter, Celena. We're both at the same phase of our lives. The elven blood in me makes me live longer. You know the stories, don't you? Elves can live for up to 900 years." Denevive felt Celena jolt slightly as she probably held back a sob. He decided it was for the best that they leave the subject of their age difference alone for a while. "I'm still quite taken with you. And if you feel the same, please give me a chance."

"A chance." she cried, "Of course I'll give you a chance. Denevive, I . . . I don't know what I'm feeling right now but it must be - I think it is but . . ." Denevive pulled back, his small charming smile still on his lips, and gazed down at her tear-streaked face. Celena didn't know what to expect from this awkward moment of silence, before it happened. As gently as they way he touched her face or looked at her, Denevive bent down and kissed her. She could see his face, as her eyes were wide with the suddenness of the action before she quickly shut them.

There they stood in the middle of a stuffy library with nothing but the smell of dust and leather filling the air, their hands joined tightly and their lips locked in a chaste kiss of the most pure and the most enjoyable emotion - true love.


	9. Unfriendly Times

**Chapter Eight**

Her tears had dried on her face but she did not notice. Celena was far too overcome by her more positive emotions to notice the sticky trails of her dried up tears. She didn't dare open her eyes for fear that Denevive might disappear - and if she kept them closed, her lips would still be experiencing the warm pleasure of his kiss. It seemed too soon when he finally pulled away, his hands clutching hers; if from nervousness or otherwise, Celena couldn't say. Her eyes were still closed.

"Celena." said Denevive softly. She snapped her eyes open and looked at him, almost startled out of the sweetness that had enveloped her just a moment ago.

"Y - yes?" she stammered, holding his hands even more tightly. Denevive smiled again, letting out a small huff of amusement.

"You're quite the catch, my lady." he said, bringing his hand up to brush her cheek gently. His smile widened when her skin turned pink beneath his touch.

"Thank you." responded Celena shyly. Where was this conversation going again, she asked herself. She had completely lost track of what had happened just moments before. Then she remembered - the box! Now it was miraculously changed into a map and had contained the letter and ring. Her curiosity was replenished. "What are your plans now, Denevive? You are still King Van's samurai general but . . ."

Denevive seemed to know what she was going to ask and had already begun to form an appropriate reply. "Yes, I have spoken to Jadik . . ."

"Who's he?"

"Van's chief advisor. I spoke to him and he had decided that I was not in the right state of mind to continue my duties."

Celena guffawed. "He dismissed you?"

"No, no." Denevive laughed slightly, "He's let me go on a holiday. I explained my situation and my discovery - he certainly took the news well, as I thought he would. He's quite the wise man, you know. He's not telling Van about this, however. Instead, the story is that I'm a bit bothered by hurting your brother. It's funny," he said after a moment, seeing the confused look in Celena's eyes, "You would think after all my years of training and battle, I would be used to such sights."

"You mean - you really are a bit bothered by it?" she asked softly, "Haven't you killed men before?" What a terrible thing to ask, she said to herself.

"Why, yes. I have. Many times. But it would take too long for me to explain my feelings at the moment. I will say that I held a great deal of admiration for Sir Allen and that I have never felt more sorry than taking away the skill of which I admired of him. A slight pang of guilt, perhaps, although I was just doing my duty."

Don't argue, Celena forced herself to think. She nodded after a moment and continued, "So you're on holiday now. What for?"

"To travel to Aelyria, of course. It is my birthplace. Perhaps I'll find my parents there. I have so many questions to ask them . . . "

"Well," said Celena, interrupting Denevive's soliloquy, "How are you getting there? Airship?"

"Too expensive, I'm afraid. The best I can do is gather a crew for a sea ship and travel that way. It will take some time, of course. At least a month to prepare. And I wanted to know," he took both of her hands again and squeezed them fondly, looking deep in her eyes for his next question, "will you join me on my quest?"

Celena didn't know what to say. Not even a proper stutter was emitted from her choked up throat. Her feelings were so suddenly mixed at that moment - first excitement for an adventure to an unknown and magical continent. She felt a love and want to be with Denevive the whole way across the seas to the land of fey. Then there was fear - for herself and for confronting her brother. She couldn't leave him alone. She had to take care of him and help him.

"Well?" prodded the half-elf anxiously.

"I'll think about it. A month, right?" Denevive nodded. "Right, so . . . yes, I'll think about it." She offered him a smile. "Now, you must go. Allen might be done any minute now and he'll need me."

"Yes, of course." He was shown to the door, giving Celena a light kiss before leaving. She watched him for a while, standing at the doorway and gazing as he disappeared around the bend to where his horse probably waited hidden among the bushes. She then closed the door with a sigh and a slight smile on her face.

"I've heard interesting things about your exploits while I was asleep." Allen's voice was unusually cold, making Celena go rigid at his tone. Her hands froze, as they had been fixing the sheets on his bed (none of the maids were brave enough do it themselves while Allen was in the room). She could almost feel herself grow pale, her hands numb as she forced them to work out the wrinkles on the newly changed sheets. She could most certainly feel his eyes upon her, staring coldly at her while he sat in his favorite chair and wearing clean trousers and a white silk shirt.

"I - Interesting things?" said Celena nervously, chopping her hand beneath the pillows a little harder than she had initially intended. When she finished, she straightened but did not turn to look at him.

"Misshel told me very interesting things indeed." He would have liked to stand at that moment, to approach her and make her face him but his lack of strength did not allow for it. "My own sister . . ." he sounded disappointed, even though his tone changed from cold to scorning, "you've been consorting with that insolent fool. How could you?"

"He's not a fool!" Celena said a little too quickly, turning on her heel and - for a very brief moment - her eyes livid with sudden anger. But the sight that met her eyes quickly made her anger dissipate. Allen slumped in his red velvet chair, his long blond hair still damp from his bath, his left elbow leaned against the arm while he leaned his head in his hand. He would have looked normal, dressing as simply as he always did when going about the house, except for the limp right sleeve of his shirt. "I - I mean . . ."

"Not a fool?" Allen raised his eyebrow, "I have thought long and hard about this, Celena, and Denevive is nothing more than a worthless, brainless soldier."

Again, Celena's cheeks reddened and she practically yelled, "He is not!"

"He took my arm!" Allen yelled back at her, leaning forward in his chair. "After what he's done, I hear that you go out drinking with the man! Getting stupidly drunk! Inviting him into our house? How - how . . uhnn..." he moaned, doubling over and clutching his stump suddenly. Her anger forgotten with his pain, Celena went to him, touching his shoulder and feeling much more concerned than she ever remembered being.

"Allen? What's wrong?" When Allen looked up at her, his brow was creased in pain and sweat formed on his forehead.

"It hurts." He grunted pathetically. His medication was wearing off, in truth, and this is probably what made him so ill tempered. One minute slouching and looking hazed, then the next minute he was yelling . . . it made sense. Celena seemed to understand as soon as he mentioned that he was in pain, so she ran to the spare room where the nurse had been staying.

It was a sparse room with little furniture and, luckily, the nurse had been frightened to the point of forgetting to take all of her things with her - including the medical supplies she had been using to care for Allen. Among these, Celena found a small bottle that rattled when she picked them up. It must be what Allen had been given. She rushed back to him, seeing that he had attempted to stand and didn't get very far from his chair before he fell to his knees, still holding his right side and clenching his teeth.

After a strenuous effort to get Allen back up onto his feet and moved onto the bed, Celena poured him a glass of water and handed him two pills from the bottle - she didn't know how much to give him really but two seemed like the right amount. Trouble was, within fifteen minutes, he was fast asleep - not that this troubled Celena at all but it only prolonged the inevitable. She hated fighting with Allen, even though he had mostly been over-protective of her and sometimes couldn't stand saying "no" to her (perhaps from guilt?).

She realized eventually that she only won those fights because he loved her so much. At the moment, things were drastically different. She was no longer the "poor little lost girl" and the center of attention, someone who needed to be cared for on a consistent bases. Now it was Allen's turn and Celena wasn't sure if she could provide him with as much attention and care as he had to her - not with Denevive and the chance of adventure still prominent in her thoughts.

The days wore on slowly. Each morning Celena would wake up (Misshel had suspiciously disappeared suddenly to go on a trip to visit family), dressed in the simplest of gowns and not bothering with her hair before she visited Allen and made sure he took his medication to avoid pain (one pill instead of two). For the rest of the day, he would be left in a haze but was still able to walk around and be reasonably coherent of his surroundings. He stopped having his meals in his room after a few days and insisted that he return to eating in the dining room properly.

Dressing was certainly strange - Allen would be able to do most of that himself but there were still several things he needed Celena for. Buttons, for one thing. The strings at the collar of his shirts he never really bothered with before anyway, but he began to seriously loathe buttons. After a while of awkwardly tying the drawstring of his trousers, Celena eventually became accustomed to the task and didn't scrunch her face up as much. Allen would simply stand there, muttering swear words under his breath as he offered his left hand with the cuff undone.

"Bloody, bloody cuffs." Celena would hear him say as she buttoned the cuff impatiently. Much to Allen's chagrin, she would then take the right sleeve and fold it up neatly to pin just below the end of his stump so it wasn't in the way. Allen always made a point to look away when she did this - not that Celena blamed him. She hated doing it too. She hated doing this whole damned thing every morning. Dressing him, feeding him - thank the gods she didn't have to bathe him.

Everyday it was the same thing and it wasn't before long that she grew tired of it. She would have to constantly watch the clock to make sure he got his medication on time - after five hours, his haze would disappear and he'd get extremely irritable and loud. Usually it would lead to bringing up the subject of Denevive but before she could answer, he would be in too much pain to pay attention. Luckily, Celena was usually able to avoid this discussion if she made sure to give him the pain killers.

Already into the month of Red and just a few weeks ago, during Indigo, was when everything occurred. On the eighth moon of Red, Celena had grown so exhausted from caring for Allen day in and day out that she just slept in. She saw the sunrise through the curtains of her bedroom, moaned and turned over. She had closed her eyes sleepily and felt so wonderfully comfortable that she didn't feel like moving from the warmth of her bed. So she gladly snuggled into her thick bedspread. She was completely unaware of how much time went by before she woke up with a start.

She sat bolt upright in bed and looked through the cracks of her curtains - the sunlight seemed to be coming from nearly directly overhead. Muttering a curse, she jumped out of bed, grabbed her bed robe and haphazardly threw it on as she ran out the door and into the hall.

"I'm coming, Allen! I'm sorry, I - . . ." but when she got to his bedroom and opened the door, he wasn't in there. Celena's brow furrowed deeply at this discovery, slowly taking the time to tie the sash of her robe properly as she made her way down stairs and into the kitchen.

"Happy Birthday!" was the loud roar that met her ears, a grand cacophony created by the meager staff of their house. Kush, the young stable boy, was there bearing a small gift for her. Muri, the young gardener, bore a bouquet of forget-me-nots (Celena always thought he had a crush on her).

A moment of brief shock filled Celena and Jeyla stepped forward, gently guiding the gaping girl to sit at the table which held a small round cake covered in chocolate frosting, several plates, tea and coffee. "Happy birthday, miss." she said gently with a slight giggle. Celena still hadn't spoken, not even to say thank you.

"What day is it?" she asked instead, which after a moment she realized how stupid the question must have seemed since it was obviously her birthday. Everyone seemed to realize this too and laughed without so much as an answer.

"I got you something, Miss Celena." Said the young Kush happily, offering his small gift. She smiled gratefully to him and received the gift. The small decorative paper box contained a small pair of opal earrings and Celena smiled widely at the sight. "Thank you, Kush. I love opals!"

"Oh, they're not opals, miss. They're Moonstones." He smiled widely at her.

"Moonstones?" she said, looking at them more closely - funny how she could have mistaken the foggy stones for opals, "What a precious gift. How lovely."

"I got them 'cause of your name." continued the boy shyly. Did he have a crush on her as well? Suddenly, it seemed, they all came flocking to her when Allen was indisposed most of the time - how intriguing, she thought.

Mallie, the cook, kept herself busy serving the two maids and herself some cake and coffee. Celena blinked a bit, her mind still groggy from shock and sleep. She didn't notice the bouquet of blue flowers that landed in her arms until Muri cleared his throat and bowed timidly to her. Celena thought he was about to speak, as he had opened his mouth slightly but quickly closed it, blushed and left the kitchen through the backdoor - perhaps he had much gardening to do that day.

She looked around again, seeming to finally notice what was missing - she saw Kush sitting at the end of the table and happily wolfing down his chocolate cake. She turned to Mallie, who was sipping at some coffee, and asked, "Where's Allen?" Despite her silent reassurances, Celena couldn't help but feel a bit hurt that Allen didn't remember her birthday - then again, she hardly remembered herself.

"I haven't seen him, miss." said Mallie kindly, offering her a smile. "Have you checked the study?"

Celena shook her head and excused herself quickly, leaving her gifts on the table by the cake. Allen was indeed in the study, seated at their father's old desk and seemingly poring over documents - at least that's what it looked like to Celena, for his back was towards her.

"Allen?" she began timidly, not daring herself to approach him. She couldn't really figure why she felt such sudden intimidation in his presence. Maybe it had something to do with not knowing if he took his medication that morning - not knowing if he was ready for an argument. Not knowing if he can over-power her again.

"What kept you?" he asked quietly. He didn't turn to look at her, simply keeping his back to her where he was seated.

"I'm sorry. I over slept. I don't know what came over me . . ."

"You were tired." Allen answered simply, "Probably tired of taking care of me. Which is why I let you sleep."

"I'm sorry," she said again, as if pleading.

"It's alright." He finally turned the chair around to face her, "I managed just fine on my own. Except the cuff." He held up his left cuff for her to see, undone and sagging on his wrist. His other sleeve was pinned just as Celena usually pinned it - although it was folded rather awkwardly, he had managed to do it himself just the same. She buttoned the cuff patiently and he lowered it when she finished.

She gasped, for on his desk were not the usual documents he would examine. Instead, there upon the scratched mahogany surface was none other than the wooden map, the ring, and the letter scroll. "Where did you find those?" was Celena's immediate and impulsive question. Perhaps it would have been better to keep quiet, though it would have been in vain.

"Ah, yes. I had been meaning to ask you the very same." Allen's face was rather stoic and it unnerved Celena. She thought it would have been better to at least read anger or disappointment in his face but to see absolutely no emotion was worse than either of the emotions afore mentioned.

"Well?" he prodded, perhaps a little impatiently with his eyebrow elegantly raised in an inquisitive arch. Celena gawked and remained quiet, for she did not know exactly how to answer, and merely stood there in silence. "Answer me." Allen snapped, annoyance finally creeping into his features and his voice so crisp that it broke through Celena's brief stupor.

"The puzzle box." she said finally, but if she was heard or not was a mystery because Allen's next question seemed completely unrelated.

"What were you doing in my private study?" Again, Celena was left standing in fear as she faced her brother. She took a safe step back when he stood and approached her, grabbing her arm with his remaining left hand and glaring down at her. "You know that I do not allow anyone in here. Anyone. Not even you. Especially not you."

Celena's blue eyes flared with anger and she yanked her arm out of his grip, him still being too weak to have a proper hold on her. "How dare you accuse me . . .!"

"I accuse you of nothing." spat Allen intolerantly, "But I think I should remind you that this is my private space and I don't like intruders looking about my personal things."

The girl could only sputter for a second before finally managing to say, "I'm your sister!" At this, Allen snorted indignantly and turned back to his desk, promptly sitting back down in the rickety chair he had vacated just moments before. Celena stared at his hunched backside, feeling quite bristled.

"Now explain these items quickly. What are they doing here?" asked Allen after a moment of awkward silence.

"The puzzle box, you dung heap! Pay attention." She really couldn't stop herself from calling him names, being completely livid and tensed up - she looked like a floor board, standing upright and possessing flaring nostrils.

"Don't call me names!" was Allen's immediate reply, on his feet and turned around once again, glaring daggers at his younger sibling.

"Well, if you'd paid attention in the first place instead of indignantly reminding me of my place about the house, you'd have realized that I've already answered your question. Now give me those items back!"

Allen gently held her back when she tried to reach for the objects left on his desk. "Not until you answer my questions."

"I've answered your questions!" She argued, struggling against his strength while reaching towards the map in vain, "Now give them back!"

This was probably going to be more difficult than Allen thought, but luckily he was no longer in so much pain that he couldn't concentrate or had to take pain killers that made him practically useless. "Now see here, Celena. Calm down."

"You calm down! Those aren't yours!" she yelled, finally pushing him aside with enough force so that he fell back into his chair. She snatched up the wooden map and scroll as quickly as she could - the silver ring, however, managed to fall to the floor as it had been laying on top of the wooden map. The ring landed with a dull "clink", by which Allen quickly bent and grabbed it with his less dominant left hand.

Stupid, stupid Denevive, Celena thought to herself, leaving all his things behind. What in the world could have made him forget such important artifacts - certainly essential to his quest. Very briefly, Celena was flattered with the thought that he must have been distracted with her while he was leaving and simply forgot to pick them up. Then she had to wonder if, because of this, he had not tried to reacquire the items within the past couple of weeks. She didn't even want to think of what Allen would do if he ever caught the samurai snooping about the house.

"Stay right where you are." demanded Allen of her, as she had clutched the board to her chest, the scroll being significantly squashed under the pressure. Reluctantly, Celena turned to face him again. "The puzzle box. Father's puzzle box?" She nodded. "But - how can that be?" He stared down at the ring, examining it carefully as it rested lightly in his palm.

"Where did father find it, Allen?" It was the question she had been meaning to ask him ever since Denevive shared the discovery with her - although she wasn't sure if she should mention Denevive's involvement with the whole plot just yet.

Allen shook his head slightly, "I can hardly remember. All I can recall is the day he came home after walking on the beach, holding a black stone box with intricate designs all over it. He cleaned it up and gave it to mother as a gift, I think. She thought it was a delightful paper weight."

Paper weight, indeed, thought Celena. She couldn't hide this secret any more. Telling Allen would be her only option. "It's magic, Allen." she said with a tone of delight and excitement.

It would seem that Allen had no choice but to be skeptical, as he had not seen the box magically transform into the wooden map. As he sat in thought, he brought his hand up and held his right stump - almost casually, though it seemed to have been made into habit for him. It was as if he tried, in vain, to hide his failure and had he still had his right arm he probably would have had them crossed.

"Nonsense." he said after a moment.

Celena narrowed her eyes, "I'm sure you've seen plenty of incredible things. More incredible than a mere box turning into a map. Did you not tell me that you visited the ruins of Atlantis itself?"

At this, Allen could not argue, for he did in fact witness the ruined beauty of the ancient city - led there by rediscovering the cryptic text in his father's journal. The ring, which he still had in his hand, he felt press dully against the sensitive skin around his stump as it was only lightly bandaged underneath his shirt. Celena stared, still clutching the map to her chest and feeling the scroll crumple under the pressure. Such anxiety as this she had never felt before and was afraid of what might happen next.

"Allen?" she prodded quietly, watching his hunched shoulders sadly and wondering desperately what he was thinking. He looked . . . angry. By what right did he have to be angry, said a voice in the corner of Celena's mind. Yes, indeed. By what right? She had cared for him constantly and endlessly - tirelessly, even. No, this man before her that she called brother certainly had no right to be angry with her. She would be ready, she vowed. Ready to defend her position and her own rights if he uttered a single word of animosity towards her.

"Take the ring." he said quickly, offering it to her.

She snatched it, scowling and unaware of the lividness about her. "I _will_ take it. It's not yours! None of this is your business! You keep your _hand_ off of it all!"

Allen looked rather shocked. "Celena, what . . .?"

"And I will not take anymore of this! I've done nothing but care for you and this is what I get in return? No, you stay right there, you blasted pin-headed oaf! Not a word out of you! I've had it! I've had enough!" At this, she began to stop her foot rather vehemently on the floor. "I want a break! A vacation! It's my BIRTHDAY, FOR JETURE'S SAKE!" She fairly yelled the last, uncaring of how her voice must have carried through to the kitchen.

Allen could only stare at Celena, watching as her nostrils flared and her eyes flashed anger. He would have asked her what the matter was, had it not been so clearly announced on her part. He disregarded her use of the Sea God's name in vain, trying to let her angry words settle. It was . . . her birthday? How could he have forgotten?

"I'm sorry." he forced himself to say.

Anger overwhelmed her, even as he apologized. It didn't seem to penetrate her skull, her brain feeling swollen with such contempt towards her brother's ungratefulness. The silver ring still in her hand, she subconsciously slipped it onto her finger and was only vaguely aware of the energy she felt shoot through her body. Her mind was too clouded to think of anything but Allen's wretched selfishness.

"I'm sure you are . . .," she remarked sarcastically, sneering.

The mysterious items were forgotten, thoughts of apologies to his sister were the only thing that lingered in his tired mind. He couldn't honestly say he felt sorry for her - not with so many of his own problems he had to wrestle with everyday. Just trying to feed himself with one hand was frustrating enough. No, he had been ungrateful even as he hurt and tried to cope with his loss - he should have at least thanked her for all she had done for him.

He stood, weary suddenly, and struggled to decide on his next action. A moment later, he took one of the five swords down from his collection displayed on the wall. In his grip he held a light Asturian blade, similar to his own but shorter in size - best suited for a female and very rare in design, which is why it had been in his personal collection. He offered Celena the blade, sheathed in a fine black and silver scabbard, and tried very hard to smile as he said, "Happy Birthday, Celena."

For a long moment, Celena did not move, her eyes filled with anger and confusion as she stared at the scabbard holding the Asturian blade - memorizing it's design, like silver threads crisscrossing as it wrapped around the shiny black enamel. This magnificent piece of art was being offered to her by a man who had no more use for such a weapon. Though this gesture tore at her heart, feeling that Allen was being sincere, she timidly accepted the blade.

"Thank you, Allen." she choked, her eyes sparkling. She only felt the slight weight of the weapon in her hand for a moment before setting it and the map down and embracing her brother warmly.

Allen stiffened at first when she hugged him, as it had been so long since he had any sort of affectionate contact with anyone. He had been prone to pushing everyone away lately, embarrassment leading him to seclusion. But his sister's arms were firmly around him this time. His left arm, solid and warm, managed to snake around her slender shoulders and he held her to him as if he were holding onto life itself.

"The title of a Knight Caeli had, at one time, been simply an honorable title, holding no true worth as a soldier," began Allen softly, whispering into Celena's silver curls. He sagged tiredly against her, bringing up his hand to stroke the beautiful silky hair that belonged to his sister, "They told me that it had been the way of the Caeli Knights to act as members of the royal court - merely symbols of Asturian royalty. I was the youngest to enter their ranks and was the first to uphold the true calling of the Knights after four hundred years by fighting for my country rather than representing a name."

He spoke in a solemn tone, quiet and soothing at the same time while he still held Celena close to him. It was true what he said about the Caeli Knights. When Asturia was first established, a very long time ago, the king gathered twelve elite soldiers to be his personal royal guard. These soldiers fought fiercely for their king, as was expected of them through the wars that occurred. Only the best were accepted into the Order of Heaven. After peace had been established, however, their were no more wars to be fought and the Knights Caeli became little more than elite guardsmen dressed in blue and gold uniforms. Technique in their swordsmanship was all they had, as their was little experience to gain in the peaceful coastal country of Asturia.

Four hundred years later, a young sixteen year old was accepted into the ranks with the skill that had been lacking among the other Knights. Being under the tutelage of one of three Sword Masters, he had brought with him the forgotten knowledge of sword combat and had led the Knights into a new era in the War of Destiny.

"But now they have no more use for me." Celena could hear Allen's voice resonating in his chest as her ear was pressed against it. His emotions seemed to spill from him at such close contact, in that embrace in which she held him and he held her. She felt her heart cramp, the muscle sink a little deeper into her chest cavity as she felt such deep sadness coming from the very vibrations of his voice. She decided not to say anything, because this was Allen's time to talk - and for her to finally listen. Settling into his warmth, however sad it was, she let him continue.

"My sister." It was a whisper but such pride was inflected in his tone, "My brave sister. You had once asked me if you could ever be a knight. I answered you wrongly back then. So wrong was I to even deny you the dream, and that's what it seems to be when you've reached that point. Such honor it is to receive the title of the Heavenly Order. Celena, I feel in my heart that you - are capable of great things. And I have no doubt that you will one day stand as a Knight Caeli."

Her eyes began to sting again, though not from the dust that traveled among the sunbeams. In the last words he uttered, she concluded that he was asking her to replace him among the Knights. But why her? She was capable with a blade, enough to hold her own against a half-trained thief maybe but . . . a Knight? The very idea suddenly overwhelmed her. How silly she must have sounded, that day when she had inquired to her brother if she would ever become a Knight Caeli. Now, here she stood in the broken man's hold, with no more training than what her body remembered from her alter-ego and that which Allen had been able to provide the few days before the duel.

"You will have to train very hard," continued Allen, taking her silence as mere shock and awe, "And it will take time. But you will succeed. Just as our ancestors had."

"Our ancestors?" Celena's voice cracked, unaware at how unstable her voice had grown with her emotions building up inside of her. Allen must have noticed, for her brought up his hand to her head in a comforting fashion and began to gently stroke her soft curls.

"They were great heroines to our country, four hundred and fifty years ago. They led a successful resistance to an invasion from Fanelia, and even secured the current borders Asturia now holds to its name. Luca and Loreto Vander. After such a victory, they were Knighted. The blade I just gave you belonged to Loreto herself. Made of a special and obsolete element, it is light weight and beautiful as it is lethal. Take care of it. I only hope it will come to good use." With those words said, Allen let his arm drop, pulling back long enough to see Celena's glistening eyes, and walking briskly out of the study.

Wiping absently at her eyes, Celena began to gather her new sword and the items that Denevive had forgotten, glancing at her finger to make sure the silver ring was still on it. Something tugged at her soul as she moved to leave the study after her brother. She turned and looked at the desk once more, her arms laden with the scabbard and wooden map and scroll. On the surface of the desk, off to the side and forgotten, lay another scroll with a broken blue seal of Asturia. Shifting the weight of everything in her arms, she was able to reach down and spread the scroll open with her hand. Her heart fell at what she read but she understood now what brought Allen's support of her pursuit.

Allen Crusade Schezar VIII was honorably discharged from the Knights Caeli.

---------------------

Eep! Don't hurt me! I'm slow, I know... Not that anyone's really reading this. I'm beginning to think that everyone just sort of like the first one and didn't really care for this timeline. shrug Well, at least I like it.

On Luca and Loreto Vander - credit goes to Sarah-neko (Sarah Dove) for letting me use that particular element of her story Stars on the Heart: A sequel to Scars on the Heart. Most everything was her idea except the sword - that one's mine. Thanks, Sarah!

C. Selene Belyea


	10. Shifting of the Tides

Chapter Ten

            Typically, one is filled with dread before retiring for the evening knowing there will be obligations the next morning. On such a night, the person would wake up perhaps a few hours before they would rise, regretfully recall that in a few hours they would have to be up and doing things they'd rather not be doing. The past two weeks had felt like this for Celena - filled with regret for rising the next morning, knowing what was expected of her and hating every minute. Although the night of her birthday was different, going to sleep knowing that her brother could do things on his own now. Even so, she had not slept well.

            The sun did not wake her that morning, as the light outside had turned gray with clouds and the promise of rain perhaps late in the afternoon. A dreary morning was just more of an excuse to stay in bed all day. Taking a deep breath, Celena forced herself to push back her thick bedcovers and regretted the very instant that their warm, comforting weight was lifted. The chill of the morning air in her room gave her goose bumps and made her teeth chatter uncomfortably. She sat up, holding herself and rubbing away at her arms in hopes of regaining some warmth. Unable to tell what time it was, she could only guess that it was late morning. 

            Celena dressed quickly, though she was in no hurry. A simple gown for today, she decided. Perhaps she would go for a ride in the fields. It had been so long since she did anything fun for herself. At least, it felt like a long time. She only rummaged through her armoire briefly before choosing her gown - a nice silken frock of white, sleeveless. The white lacy collar was something Celena wished she could get rid of but alas, it was the style of her culture. The frock was thrown on her bed, followed by her favorite bodice of light blue satin. 

            As she fastened her stockings in place, she caught a glimpse of her small leather travel bag in the armoire - the one she'd used when she traveled to visit doctors two years ago.  It lay crumpled and empty in a darkened corner of the wardrobe but it seemed to fascinate her beyond reason. He will come for her soon, she thought, and she must give her decision. Her eyes hardly left that bag as she threw on her dress and laced up her bodice. She fixed her collar, still staring at it, her mind reeling. What should she pack? She _was _going to pack, wasn't she? She certainly couldn't go unprepared . . .

            Her own thoughts stunned her. Had she already decided? The very idea surprised even herself. She grabbed the bag, thinking very hard about what should go in such a small holding space. An extra set of clothes, definitely. Food. A canteen of water. He will come for the map - they'll need a compass. She glanced down at her hand and nodded curtly to herself. Yes, she still possessed the ring on her right hand. Having the list of items clear in her mind, she set to work.

            Allen never realized exactly how much he would come to detest grapefruit. He always loved it as a child, liberally sprinkling the sugar on the juicy pink surface and digging out the meat. He supposed he had forgotten exactly how the digging was done and, lacking an arm, found he could not hold the bowl steady and hope to pierce the blasted fruit at the same time. Needless to say, the fruit bowl toppled clumsily to the side at his every attempt, the grapefruit practically unscathed. He sat there in the dining room, glaring at the slice of grapefruit and wondered if it only mocked him.

            "Trouble with breakfast, Allen?" Celena asked. She took a seat across from him at the dining room table, the other half of his grapefruit served in front of her. She smiled slightly, reaching for the sugar cup.

            "Not at all." He didn't really try to hide his annoyance in the matter, gently pushing his bowl back in front of him. "What's got you so chipper this morning?"

            Celena shrugged, still smiling as spooned her heavily sugared breakfast. "Not sure, really. It's such a gloomy day outside. Maybe my mood makes up for it." She grinned, "And yours." 

            "You'd feel the same, if you were as hungry as I am." And as frustrated, but so much was a given and there was no need for Allen to elaborate on this. Steadily, he reverted back to stoicism - this always seemed to make things easier for him to deal with. He picked up his spoon again, holding it for a long while and looking rather thoughtfully at the grapefruit. So wrapped up in his thoughts of disdain for his breakfast that he didn't notice Celena move her place just next to him, pushing her bowl across the table as she moved with the spoon still in her mouth. 

            "What are you up to?" Allen asked, watching his sister take a seat.

            She set her spoon down and only looked at him briefly. "I can either feed you or hold your bowl steady while you spoon yourself your breakfast. Either way is fine with me." She flashed him a playful smile and waited for his answer.

            "You will not feed me." he responded immediately, staring at her with narrowed eyes as she giggled. He sighed and looked at his breakfast again, resigning. "But you can help me keep the bowl still." To this, Celena obliged immediately, using her right hand to hold the fruit while he ate - she simply waited until he was finished before starting on her own breakfast.

            It grew quiet in the dining room, save for Celena slurping occasionally on her spoon. Although Allen was not quite as sated as he would have liked, his breakfast served its purpose and filled his aching belly. Now he sat back in his chair in silence, glancing towards his sister every now and then. Perhaps he sought conversation with her. It had been a while since they simply talked. Were things really so different that he couldn't even find casual conversation with his sister anymore? At this, he had to glance towards his right side, grimly reminding himself that things _had_ changed drastically. He no longer blamed Celena for what he thought she did to him. He had spent the night before thinking things through very carefully. It took an entire night in bed for Allen to realize things - things about himself, about his sister, and about their futures.

            How heavy his heart felt with uncertainty. Allen wasn't entirely sure what they were to do for money now that he was no longer in the Royal Regiment. There was little left of their father's small fortune and perhaps they could live comfortably for a month or so before being forced to find other means of income. Otherwise, all they would have left is their estate - the maids and their cook wouldn't stay for charity and would go to the city to find other people in need of their services. Gaddes had left them once the ship was repaired, having been reactivated in the Asturian army. Allen had not heard from him since. Allen and Celena would once again be left alone, as they had been when they were children, although at that time they still had their mother with them. No, this time they would be left utterly alone - without food or money. A dark time to live in. Allen took a breath, preparing himself to speak about this to Celena.

            "We face difficult times, Celena." he began carefully, trying not to sound so sorrowful. Celena had just finished her grapefruit and now pushed the bowl away before settling herself in her chair. She looked at him thoughtfully, nodding after a moment.

            "I know, brother." She took his hand and offered him a small smile, reassurance.

            "I - I'm not entirely sure what to do. My idea was that I would support you and I until you married. Then I would simply go on with my life in the Knights Caeli until I retired or died in battle." He huffed a bit at the last. "The unexpected always happens, I suppose. Nothing ever turns out the way you plan."

            "That's what you said when we came home after Aston announced the duel in court." Celena scowled a bit, "And I hate cliches like that."

            "Well, whether you hate it or not, the truth still is that we have to do something to keep going." He squeezed her hand gently, "I wish it didn't have to be this way. I wanted to take care of you. But now I just can't. Money - will be a problem by next month. I'll do - what I can but we'll have to work together. You might have to find work in the city . . ."

            Heat rose in Celena's face. A job? Her? She wasn't sure if the amount of alarm she felt towards this prospect was evident in her face. Her head felt suddenly larger at the thought of herself working in a mill or factory - slaving away at plucking chickens or being a seamstress. A seamstress! Her brain screamed in protest. But her voice was much gentler.

            "Surely there's something else we can do." she tried nervously, a small smile playing on her lips. "Perhaps Millerna would be kind enough to help us in our time of need. Perhaps she . . ." There was a knock at the front door, interrupting her next statement. Celena repressed a sigh of relief for the welcomed detour and began to stand.

            "I'll get it." Allen insisted, receiving an uncertain glance from his sister as he stood as well. Celena followed dutifully behind him as he marched briskly to the door and opened it. A young boy, no older than fourteen, stood outside wearing a tunic emblazed with the seal of Asturia on the blue fabric - embroidered in gold were the two serpents entwined around a sword. The poor lad was soaked, as it had been raining all morning, and his teeth chattered. 

            "I h-have a m-message for S-Sir Allen." managed the boy, offering a sealed scroll with his shaking hand. Allen, though a bit uncomfortable, moved aside to let the boy into his home. Celena hastily moved as well to let the page have a clear path. The page glanced at Allen's face in question.

            "Come inside." Allen said, and at once the boy complied. The door was shut behind him. The fallen knight was trying very hard to be hospitable, even so soon after his accident - and he found it more difficult than he would have liked. Still, he could not help but feel sympathy for the young messenger. The boy stood there, holding his arms close to his drenched tunic and trying to retain what little warmth he had left. He still held the scroll.

            "Celena, take the scroll for me please." He put his hand on the boy's shoulder as Celena was given the scroll. She only looked at her brother briefly in  worry before following him as he led the boy into the parlor. A fire blazed in the fire place, even if it was just the end of the summertime - a cold, dreary day called for a warm fire in the household. Celena watched the boy as he was invited to take a seat in front of the fire so that he may warm himself. She then turned her gaze back to Allen, who looked almost - amiable.

            "It's a long ride from the palace. Surely longer in the cold rain." he said after a moment, still standing. The page grew considerably more comfortable, his cheeks once again regaining a bit of color and he risked moving his arms away from his wet body.

            "Yes, sir." answered the boy politely. He seemed to struggle with himself now, however. Beginning to grow warmer and more focused, Celena noticed how the boy kept his gaze averted. She looked to Allen - he must have noticed this too, for his lips became pursed and his features tight. He moved to obstruct the boy's view of his right side.

            "Your name?" asked Allen tightly.

            "Quintus, sir." 

            "Ah." Allen swallowed. He was slowly crumbling with his resolve on this. Perhaps this hadn't been such a wise idea to begin with. Yet, he still tried to speak to the boy. "Quintus, have you met my sister Celena?" 

            Almost automatically, Celena stepped forward and offered the boy a smile. Quintus smiled back, his eyes flashing excitedly.

            "Oh, yes!" said the boy, "You were magnificent at the duel! I never saw a woman fight with a sword like that before! I . . ." his voice faltered, apparently picking up on the tension in the room at the mention of the duel. "F-forgive me, Sir Allen."

            "Please, don't call me that. I'm not a knight anymore." Slowly, Allen turned to his sister and received the scroll. Quintus' gaze dimmed of the prior excitement at Allen's words, though it mattered little if Allen noticed. Celena had, however, and she winked at the boy, trying to look reassuring.

            Allen pressed the scroll against his chest, shifting his hand over it to properly break the blasted seal. He hated doing things one handed, but he had little choice in the matter. Once opened, the parchment unrolled evenly as if it had been written and rolled up not an hour before. 

            "Who is it from?" Celena asked, watching Allen's face darken. For a moment, he said nothing but kept reading the letter intently.

            "Princess Millerna." he answered absently. A few more minutes went by before he finally finished reading, clutching the parchment so hard that it crinkled. His jaw was clenched.

            "What - does she say?" His sister asked carefully, but Allen was simply too upset to answer cordially.

            "Nothing." he snapped coldly, quickly leaving the parlor. His steps could be heard marching up the stairs.

            "I guess it wasn't good news..." Celena said under her breath. She turned back to Quintus, who was now looking very cozy in the armchair by the fire. "You can stay here until you're dry and ready to go back to the palace. In the meantime, could I get you something to drink? Milk?"

            Quintus smiled up at Celena appreciatively. "Yes, please, Lady Celena." Celena nodded, smiling slightly before going back to the kitchen. She picked up the fruit bowls containing the grapefruit husks left on the dining room table before entering the kitchen. The servants had the day off today, Celena reminded herself. The day after her birthday was usually the last day of the bazaar on the merchant streets of Palas. Their servants always got that day off. Celena sighed, disposing of the husks in the garbage barrel outside by the servants' entrance to the kitchen, ducking her head as rain showered upon her. Just as she was about to go inside, she stopped suddenly, nearly horrified at what caught her eye.

            Crouching in the briar, and seemingly enduring minor yet multiple amounts of pain from the briar's thorny branches, was none other than Denevive. His long hair stuck to his back, the bangs around his face plastered to his cheeks. 

            Celena groaned before hissing, "Denevive! Are you insane?" 

            "Don't ask. Just get me out of here." began Denevive in a whisper, trying to move out of the bush, though the thorns kept snagging at his shirt. Rolling her eyes, Celena tried her best to pull the thorns away from his shirt. All the while Denevive was being very good about not yelping every time a sharp point came into contact with his skin.

            "Do you have an attraction to bushes or is it mere coincidence that I keep finding you in them." She asked as she worked, her own dress managing to get caught within the bush. She growled, pulling at it hastily and ripping it slightly before being freed of the plant. Finally, Denevive stepped out of the bush, looking bedraggled with his torn shirt and wet hair.

            "I heard footsteps and thought you were Sir Allen. So I dove into the bush here, to hide. I was looking for you."

            Despite the rain that poured down onto them from the heavens, Celena felt that elation once again and her mouth quirked up into a slight smile. "Is it ready? You have the ship? Everything's prepared?"

            Denevive smiled as well. "Yes, everything's ready and waiting at the docks in Palas. I came back for a few things. The map, the ring - and your answer."

            My answer, she thought. What is my answer? Even if she had decided that morning, she now wasn't sure. That morning it had been a detached sort of dream to look forward too, not quite real. But now that she faced the chance to adventure across the seas and far away from home, she found herself cowering though her heart raced. It ached from palpitations, adrenaline pumping through her like a flood.

            Just as she was about to open her mouth to tell him her answer, they heard footsteps, long and hurried. Allen. Celena gasped, her eyes widening. "Quick! Hide!" she told Denevive, running back into the kitchen to waylay her brother.

            "Allen!" she said, trying very hard to sound casual, "Oh, brother. We haven't played chess in so long. Let's do so now, shall we? It should be wonderful fun during such a rotten day."

            Allen stood stiffly, blocked from the door by his sister who stood with her hands clasped underneath her chin, her eyes wide and jovial. He raised an eyebrow. "Chess? Since when did we ever play chess?"

            Celena's perfect smile faltered, her hands reaching out to take his arm. "Since today!" she declared after an awkward moment, turning him around and guiding him out of the kitchen. It was then that she noticed him holding his sword, the white scabbard clutched in his hand. What exactly he was intending to do with it was lost on her for a moment. Before she could ask him, however, he quickly turned around, making her lose the grip she had on him.

            "I don't have time, Celena." Allen said in a clipped tone, marching quickly out the back door and into the fields.

            "But it's raining. . . !" Celena began to holler to his retreating form before her voice died, watching her brother disappear over the soggy hill. She stepped back outside, looking around for Denevive.

            "Back in the bush again?" she asked, annoyed and her hand on her hip. Denevive crouched in the same place as before, his arms and face scratched from thorns. "You're lucky my brother didn't see you."

            "Uh - can you help me out again?" he asked, noting how Celena still stood there, staring at him.

            "Why should I?" She raised an eyebrow, narrowing her eyes, "I already ruined my dress trying to get you out from the first time, it's pouring rain, my hair's wet, my clothes are wet, it's a terrible icky day, my brother's mad, my hands are pricked from thorns, the servants are gone, and I've probably got loads of better things to do."

            Denevive's eyes only looked up at her innocently, his eyebrows raised and pleading, "Please?"

            Celena clicked her tongue and succumbed. "Oh, alright." Once again, she set to work pulling the thorn-filled branches away from his clothes and successfully freed him from the briar. "Come along inside then. More places to hide in there if my brother decides to come back in a hurry." She took his arm and led him into the kitchen. Denevive, glad to be out of the rain and indoors again, watched as Celena looked out the window toward the fields.

            "Hopefully he won't be back any time soon." She went to a cabinet, bringing down a glass before going to the pantry. "Blast it to the Abyss!" she exclaimed, bringing out an empty milk bottle.

            "What in the world is wrong?" Denevive asked, noting the empty bottle and wondering why running out of milk was so horrible.

            "Mallie." Celena answered simply, "She's probably rendezvousing with the milk man again. And now we have no milk to serve our guest. Just one more problem! One after the other!" She slammed the bottle down onto the counter and went to fill the glass with juice instead. 

            "Guest?" Boy, was he lost. But instead of asking more questions, Denevive followed her out of the kitchen and into the parlor. There was the guest Celena had mentioned. The young page was looking very comfortable indeed, curled up in the armchair with warmed rosy cheeks. He turned his head toward the interrupters of his nap, his eyes widening. Before Celena could hand the boy his juice, he was on his feet and gawking at Denevive.

            "Sacred Serpents! You're - you're . . . Sir Denevive of Fanelia! One of the king's samurai generals!!" The boy's mouth was hanging open in awe as he stared up at the flattered swordsman. Denevive tried not to look too pleased, posing a bit with his hand on the hilt of his sword (which Celena failed to notice that he wore). 

            "Why, yes. That's me. I take it you saw the duel?" Denevive smiled down at him. "Your name, lad?"

            "Quintus! Quintus Arcier. Oh, wow! Sir, what an honor to meet you." But before the boy could go on, Celena stepped in front of him, rudely blocking Denevive and roughly handing the boy his glass of juice. Quintus looked up at her face, seeing how stern it was and, gulping, took the glass. "Th-Thank you, Lady Celena." he said, and returned to his seat.

            Celena turned towards Denevive and ignored the look of disappointment on his face as she jabbed a finger in his ribs, her eyes livid. She forced him backwards and out of the room, though he still looked over her shoulder with a bit of pride in his features. "Charming boy." he said. Celena scowled.

            "Just don't you forget what my brother has to go through because of that stupid duel." She poke him one more time for good measure.

            Denevive put his hands up in defense. "Of course I won't forget." A glint caught his eye, coming from Celena's right hand and he took it gently. "Ah, the ring. Safe on my lady's finger." He grinned at her and kissed her hand. Celena couldn't really help but soften up and blush. Suddenly she felt a tug on her finger as Denevive tried to pull the ring off, interrupting her flowery thoughts of romance.

            "What are you doing?" Celena pulled her hand back, looking down at the ring on her finger. 

            "Well, I'll need it for the journey, since you're not coming with me." He looked at her with his head slightly bowed, a small smile on his face as he tried too hard to look saddened - only, he looked too pleased to sincerely think she wasn't going with him.

            "You could have asked . . ." she grumbled, pulling on the ring which, despite her efforts, remained firmly on her right ring finger. She tried again, getting it just over the knuckle . . . before it clung adamantly to her finger. She stuck her finger in her mouth, wetting the skin sufficiently enough and tried again. She pulled and pulled, stomping her foot furiously. The ring held fast.

            Denevive groaned, trying desperately to hide his contentment. "It won't come off?"

            Making grunts and squeaks, Celena kept pulling. Eventually she gave up, letting out a heavy sigh and fixing her hair. "We can do one of two things."

            "Chop off your finger?" Suggested Denevive, reaching for his sword. Celena, her eyes widening, clasped her hands close to her chest and began slowly step backwards towards the kitchen with a nervous grin.

            "I'll get the butter."

_Dear Allen,_

_            My deepest, most sincere apologies and condolences to you. Never, in all my wildest fears, would I have been able to think of my father as acting so maliciously. The young samurai that accompanied Van was so skilled. I had feared for your life, just as Celena must have before entering the arena to help you._

            Help me! scoffed a voice in Allen's mind. As if he ever needed help to begin with, he thought to himself. His left hand gripped the hilt of his sword, still sheathed in the white scabbard. With a sharp forward motion, the scabbard swiftly flew off the lethal blade and fell into the wet, muddy grass field. Rain fell in thick, heavy drops upon Allen's head, sufficiently soaking him. His white shirt stuck to his skin, but he didn't care. His mind was focused on one thing only. Slowly, he lifted the blade before him in a salute to his invisible opponent.

            Mentally prepared, he stiffened - scowled and slashed the sword through the shower of rain in front of him. He nearly lost his grip on the hilt and, with his one hand, shifted the grip on it. It would have lost him valuable time had he been fighting for his life. Closing his eyes, he regained his composure, letting himself breath out his sudden rage. He had once been so confident! He had been that day of the duel, remarking offhandedly to Celena how he would be pleasantly surprised at a worthy challenge. Little did he know the situation, how it had come to be - declaration of a duel to the death by the king, a decision needing to be made that he wasn't prepared for. No one was supposed to win that day, just as no one was supposed to lose, both sides fully aware of how mad King Aston had grown over the past two years since the War of Destiny. The duel was to humor a dying man's last request, but they didn't think he would die that very day!

_            My father is dead, Allen. Although I would not expect you to grieve with this news. His heart failed him just as you were struck down. I was torn, as I still am. Please understand. It wasn't until afterward that I was told of your injury. I am so sorry! My heart is filled with nothing but sorrow. I pray that you would forgive me. For my inaction. I firmly believe that I could have stopped the duel from even occurring, yet I did nothing. Forgive me._

            Allen snorted, raising his sword again and slowly going through simple attack motions and blocks, each time having to adjust the grip he had on the hilt and each time growing more frustrated. His arm began to tire quickly, but he did not stop working the swift motions of the blade, locks of his soaked hair falling in front of his face. Annoyed, he flicked his head back in an attempt to force the locks from sticking to his face.

            So, the princess was sorry. The princess wanted forgiveness. Bah! She did not understand one drop of his pain, his grief - his utter and never ending frustrations. Curse this arm of his, that it would not work properly as it used to! Not without its companion. His left hand was unused to holding a sword alone. Despite how his hand slipped on the hilt, Allen kept working. No, Millerna would not understand. No one could understand what he was going through. Every slash of his sword, every jab, was weak and would be harmless against a skilled opponent. Loss upon loss was the story of his life, and he had at one time considered himself used to the idea. 

            When Celena came back to him, his life seemed like roses and carnations again. Even when she was a grown-up girl with the mind of a child, even as he worked so hard to teach her and raise her from her five year old mind to the young woman she was now, he still considered her a blessing. But had she come back only for him to lose her again? To a bumbling samurai - the very same who cursed Allen to this fate? How awful was Fate him. How amusing it must seem to the gods to watch this poor wretch of a man struggle for everything he's ever held dear. He lost his arm, his career, and now his sister to blind love. 

            Blind love. 

            Allen swallowed, sword poised in a killing blow to his invisible enemy. Impatiently, he struck at the long grass, clumsily bringing his sword down and around. It caused the chopped halves of the grass blades to fly up into the air, along with a shower of the rain drops that had been restlessly shifting upon the green like tiny diamonds. He remembered blind love, and it was not too long ago that he experienced such blissful ignorance. Oh, how his heart ached at the thought of his love - his only love, Marlene. She had been fairer than fair, more beautiful than the roses in her secret gardens, and her smile held mysteries that no one but she and Allen knew of. More than once during the time when they courted did they share a secret smile here, a pleasant stroll through the gardens there . . . 

            Their love had been great. So great that it could not last, for once you reach the top of a mountain, the only way left to go is down. This was true for all the greatest loves in the world, and Allen pitied those who believed in such fate. True, he had great love for Marlene, but was that so wrong? She had been taken away from him, and him from her, only to be wed to a hard-faced duke whom she held no love for. Or did she? She had carried and gave birth to not the duke's child, but Allen's - and he would never get to hear his son call him father. Such was the way of his accursed fate. You can only have one true love - everyone else was a substitute . . . or so the saying goes. But with how dark things had gotten in Allen's world, no light seemed able to penetrate the barrier.

_            I cannot help but grieve these days, not only for my father's death but for you. I was told that you were relieved of your rank in the Knights Caeli. Stupidly, I convinced myself that such a thing wasn't possible. But no, the world has changed, as did her people._

Do not grieve for me, silly girl, Allen found his mind's voice saying. _I do not need your pity. She was just a girl, after all. No older than his own sister. But she had loved him - no, had been infatuated with him, thinking it was love. Millerna was so much like Marlene, being her younger sister. Allen had thought he loved Millerna, had hoped in vain that his feelings were true. But they could never be true again, and now he realized that his happiness left him the day Marlene was sent to the Duke of Freid. Now he realized that Millerna could never replace Marlene. _

_            I will soon be crowned Queen. My coronation will take place in three days. I won't expect you to be there, especially if you have not yet recovered, but your presence would be honored. Perhaps then I could extend my sincere apologies to you in person. Until then . . . _

_                        Millerna_

One knee sinking into the soggy, wet ground, he gasped for breath, his sword digging into the ground as he leaned on it heavily - defeated. He was weak, pathetic. The sweat that poured from his brow mingled with the pelting rain, washing over him and cleansing him of his failure. Too much time had gone by without lifting his sword, too much blood loss cursed him to that day. Frail and beaten, Allen sluggishly straightened, realizing how cold he was. The rain didn't help, pasting his clothes to his skin but he tried to ignore it. Dull as his vision was, he worked the wet steel back into the scabbard without really knowing how he had done so - only knowing that he did, grabbing the scabbard and stumbling back towards the manor.

            He entered the kitchen dripping wet, trailing in mud behind him as he walked, but he didn't care. Sound reached his ears, coming from the adjoining laundry room in the kitchen - sounds of human squabble. His hand still clutching the scabbard, he pushed open the door to the laundry room.

            "You!" it was all Allen needed to say to gain Denevive's attention, the half-elf's gaze having been on the door since he'd heard Allen's footsteps. The samurai was caught in a rather awkward position, both his hands plunged deeply in laundry tub filled with soapy water. Celena's right arm was elbow deep, firmly in Denevive's grasp while she sat next to him, her face buried in her spare hand and looking away embarrassedly. 

            "Allen!" Denevive tried to say cheerfully, finding himself frozen in the position he was found. Celena turned her head to look at her brother.

            "Allen, I can explain everything. It might take a week, but I can." she tried, but Allen only snorted.

            "I think I know perfectly well what's going on." he said, glaring at Denevive, "You will leave this house immediately, never to return again."

            "Wait, Allen, you don't understand." Celena said, breaking out of Denevive's wet grip and shaking the excess water off of her soggy arm as she approached Allen. After a moment, Denevive followed suit and wiped his hands on a spare towel. "The things you found yesterday in your study? The map and ring . . ." at this, a small groan came from Denevive but Celena continued before either of them could say anything, "They're part of an important quest that Denevive is going to undertake." She said the last as if stating a brave triumph.

            "A quest." Allen sneered, standing in the doorway, rigid. "Then go on this quest for all I care - with luck, it will rid the world of the vermin you are."

            Denevive came up next to Celena, his head held up in pride. "Your snide comment is noted, Sir Allen - "

            "Don't call me that!" Allen snapped quietly. Denevive simply smiled pleasantly and wrapped his arm around Celena's shoulders, pulling her firmly to him. She looked suddenly very panicky, stiffly looking back to Denevive and then to Allen.

            "And Celena intends to come with me." 

            Allen's hard gaze turned back to his silver haired sister, his eyes narrowing. "Is this true?"

            Celena stammered, "Well - uh - I . . ."

            "Yes." Denevive answered for her. "Celena, dear," he whispered to her ear, just loud enough for Allen to hear, "go on and get your things." He gave her a gentle nudge towards the door and she hesitantly obeyed before her path was blocked by brother.

            "You're not actually going to leave," Allen huffed with a half-smile. He frowned suddenly, "Are you?" Celena could only look at him briefly, her eyes sparkling with tears, silently pleading for him to understand that she needed this. She needed to get away from her cage that she had been living in for two years. Without a word, she hung her head and pushed past him, Allen having moved aside as if resigned. 

            The blond man once again acquired the dull stare, looking towards the man who had destroyed him. A snarl came to his lips, his brow creasing in anger, but said nothing - only glared at Denevive.

            "I never intended for us to have bad blood between us." said the samurai, having thought long about his actions and accepted their consequences long ago, "I had admired you, you know. It was an accident - what happened in that ring. I would have stopped but I was blinded by my duty to the king, my king. You understand what that duty is."

            "My duty changed darkly that day - kill or be killed. And I was not ready to die, cowardly as it may seem to a bull-headed samurai. In vain, I fought, only to be cursed with a fate worse than death."

            "It was cowardly." Denevive responded, pushing past the man angrily and stomping towards the foyer. "Your king was crazy but unnervingly fair. Had I won, he would have kept his word."

            "He would have won, either way!" Allen raged behind him, following closely. "Aston had always wanted me dead - hated me for reasons unknown. He chose me because I would be loyal like the dog I am, and would not let him down. If I had lost, he would have rid the world of another enemy!"

            "You think you are only enemy to your king?" Denevive turned on him, losing the control he vowed to keep in check.

            "My king is dead, as much good as it's done me! And I know my enemies still live, for they stand here in this room as we speak!"

            Denevive snarled, his voice low. "Your own sister cannot stand to be with you any longer. Do you not see what your anger does to her, how you hurt her?"

            "My anger!" Allen raged, throwing his head back in frustration, "You are the cause of this! It was you who did this to me! Took away everything I hold dear! And now you take the last thing I've ever cared for! If I had the strength, I would strike you down where you stand!" As if to punctuate Allen's threat, an arrow zoomed past Denevive face and bit into the wooden wall next to him.  Denevive stumbled back, having felt the air gust in front of his face, now staring wide-eyed at the black and silver shaft of an arrow embedded in the wall.

            "Name of the gods!" gasped the samurai, glancing at Allen who seemed just as shocked as he himself was. Instinctively, Denevive pulled out his sword at once, whirling about to face the owner of the arrow.

            "What in the Abyss is going on!?" roared Allen, taking a step back from whatever malevolent thing that might attack. He felt himself wither inside as he cowered, but could not help the reaction as defenseless as he was without his sword arm.

            Before Denevive could even explain, his fears were answered when the front door of the house was nearly knocked off its hinges, kicked open and hitting the wall as it swung heavily. A man, clothed in black, his face hidden by a soaked hood, charged inside. A bright silver sword was wielded in the man's right hand. Without much more than a glace at his surroundings, he attacked Denevive. The metal of their blades clashed loudly in the front hall, the force of the cloaked man's attack forcing Denevive back and knocked an ancient vase from its stand, sending it to the floor with a loud crash.

            Allen cursed under his breath, trying to determine the reason for the attack. It had come swiftly, and for no apparent reason, like a thunderclap on a clear day. Allen kept his back to the footrest in front of his favorite chair. He had dropped behind it, instinctually seeking cover from any further arrows. With the cessation of the arrow fire, he  pulled himself up, looking over the luxurious ottoman. Immediately he caught the flash of steel and sharp movements of Denevive's sword cutting through the air and rebounding off of the blade of their mysterious attacker. Rising to his feet, he fumbled with his left hand at the pommel of his sword, trying to keep track of the fight and gauge a time to jump into the fray. Allen's pulse beat furiously, the sudden adrenaline rush of combat overtaking him. with one swift movement, he pulled his sword free from the tooled scabbard, raising it's blade into a form that he remembered Balgus teaching him long ago. 

            Allen's arm shook, the weight of the sword was uncomfortable and unfamiliar in one hand. But, by the Gods, he would do everything in his power to stop the masked attacker. 

            Denevive stepped back from his opponent, keeping true to the fighting stances that Lig Vieta, the doppelganger sword master, had taught him. He kept his left side to his enemy, leading with it when he came in to strike. He and the masked one traded a series of quick blows, testing each other's strengths. The one in the black robes was good. Definitely well trained, and very quick... but he was not as good as Denevive. 

            The cloaked one caught his foot on the edge of the large rug that blanketed the foyer. His momentary disorientation was all Denevive needed. With a quick thrust of his blade, Denevive fainted to the black one's left, quickly reversing his cut as the attacker tried hastily to bring his blade up to block. The cloaked one was fast, much faster than Denevive had anticipated, but he was not fast enough. The attacker's blade took the brunt of Denevive's blow, turning the deadly blow into nothing more than a torn shirt. 

            Though it was not the desired effect, Denevive took a certain cold amusement from the look of surprise and anxiety in his attacker's eyes. Moments ago the cloaked one seemed confident, almost arrogant. Now, his steps and thrusts were weak, almost simplistic. Apparently torn cloth was enough to shake the attacker's confidence. 

            Pressing forward in his attack, Denevive failed to notice Celena as she rounded the last edge of the staircase and entered the foyer. 

            "What in the name of.." 

            The cloaked man noticed Celena, or something about Celena. With little warning, he abruptly withdrew from the fight, charging at the startled noble woman. Allen moved forward with purpose, intent on keeping the disguised attacker from his sister, but it was obvious that he would arrive too late. 

            To Allen's surprise, and the younger Schezar's as well, the cloaked man did not strike at Celena with his sword. Instead, he dived forward, catching Celena's hand in his own. The young woman struggled against her attacker, trying to shake off his grip, but his hand seemed molded of iron, and her rebuff was ineffectual. The attacker's hands clawed at Celena's fingers, finally latching solidly onto the gold band encircling Celena's ring finger. After a series of quick tugs, it was obvious what the attacker wanted. 

            "The ring!" Celena shouted, trying to shake off the black cloaked man. "He's after the ring."

            Allen ran forward seizing the attacker's arm, and trying to haul the cloaked one off of his sister. With a final pull, the attacker and Allen went down in a flurry of movement. Denevive took a few steps forward trying to determine where to jump in and help the elder Schezar. As he came within range of the brawling pair, a odd flash of light and whistling sound caught his attention.

            Fire.

            Through the windows, arrows wreathed in flames flew into the manor, striking the walls of the foyer. The curtains of the windows soon were ablaze in the fiery magnificence, the rug following suit, creating obstacles in the way of escape. Allen had managed to waylay the cloaked man, having returned to his feet and blocking the enemy from escape. 

            "Run, Denevive!" screamed Allen above the roar of the flames, "Take Celena and run! Get out of here!"

            Denevive gave no thought to the order, grabbing Celena's hand and dragging her outside in the storm. Outside the gates, awaited the carriage that had just pulled up, a carriage requested by Denevive to take them to the port. Their lungs burned as they ran towards their escape, Celena's free arm wavering with the grip on her knapsack.

            "Hurry! The ship will leave port soon!" said the driver just as they boarded the carriage and slammed the door shut. Denevive gave a quick order and the driver sped them off through the forests of Asturia. Celena, out of breath and dazed from the action, looked back to her home. It grew smaller and smaller as the carriage rode on, and the last sight she saw of it was when it was licked by angry orange flames and surrounded by dark clothed men. She closed her eyes to the tears that spilled down her cheeks, and whispered a quiet farewell to her brother, hoping his death would be swift.


	11. Something New

Chapter Eleven

By the time the carriage reached the port, the storm outside was blowing full force. Rain pelted against the boards of the dock, wind making the sea restless. Celena hardly noticed the sting of the sharp rain and wind as she was led to the triple mast ship, heaving in the water and pulling obstinately on the restraints tied to the dock. Denevive immediately helped Celena to settle into her cabin below deck before he went up to argue with the captain. No sailor in his right mind would set sail in a storm so furious, but Denevive couldn't risk being pursued by those black cloaked men.

            She sat on a bed, unaware of its filth, staring out into the nothingness of despair. Was this the same nothingness that Allen had been so enraptured with after he awakened into his horrible reality? Allen - her brother. The last sight she saw of him was through blazing flames, blocking him from escape. The last words she heard him say were to save her. 

            _"Run, Denevive! Take Celena and run! Get out of here!"_

            There was no malice in those words, no anger, no sadness. Just the pure desperation of saving his only family from a terrible fate. It made Celena cringe, her heart guilt-stricken and nearly cramped with sadness. She had treated him – badly. Not like a sister should have. She abandoned him. The image of her brother's eyes plagued her. How she had hurt him when he discovered her plan to leave him and everything just to follow a silly dream. She didn't know what was important anymore. She'd lost sight of the future, of everything except her brother's face, hurt and desperate.

            The flames must have consumed him, now, she thought. Her lip trembled. She chewed on it to keep it from shaking. Horrific images could not be kept from her mind, as she saw in her imagination the different ways he might have died. Skewered by the cloaked one's sword and left crumpled on the floor, helpless and bleeding. Holding his wound as he spoke her name. A cremation of the living, unless he had died first of the wound. Burned alive from the fire . . .

            "No!" Celena hissed to herself mournfully, gripping the wooden edge of the bed frame, welcoming the pain of splinters digging into her soft flesh. Her eyes were lucid, even in the darkness of the cabin, for she did not take the time to light a candle. Lightening outside shone through her porthole and lit her surroundings occasionally, but she cared not for light. She would dwell in this darkness for the rest of her life, if her fears rang true. If Allen really was dead, even Denevive would not be able to save her from herself.

            "Gods, no! I should have stayed!" she said to the moist air in her cabin.

            The ship rocked violently, but to Celena's numbed consciousness, it was as soothing as a mother rocking her babe. As it was, she lay down on the greasy mattress and there lay with wide tearless eyes, staring.

            "Set sail!" roared the captain above the howl of the wind, having been convinced of Denevive's plight. The roguish captain then went about the ship, continuously shouting orders to his crew who was already busy pulling ropes against the wind's will. The half-elf wasn't as used to keeping his balancing against the ships ever changing gravity with the waves and worked hard to keep himself on his feet. He ran to some struggling sailors, pulling on a rope that refused to give with even three men. A fourth would make a difference, Denevive reasoned, and put his hands upon the taut rope.

            The storm had gravely grown in intensity since just two hours ago, lightening threatening any mortal vessels that dare sail towards the horizon, where the very existence of the world seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness of storm clouds.

            Through his wind streaked and rain filled vision, Denevive saw a black cloaked figure swiftly approaching. Without time enough to think, Denevive released his grip on the rope and pulled out his sword. But to his surprise, the figure did not attack, but instead grabbed the place of the rope where Denevive had held it.

            "Fool, keep your hands on this rope if you're going to be of any use against this storm." said the figure from beneath the shadows of his hood. Denevive only stared dumbly, unsure of how to react. "Put away your sword. You look like an idiot."

            Slowly, Denevive did as he was told, but still stared as this man pulled the rope with the other sailors and hoisted the rear sail. As they began to leave port, the ropes were secured, and Denevive found his voice.

            "Who are you?" he had to shout over the howling wind. The man, though clothed in black, was not an enemy. For this, Denevive was thankful, but he had yet to determine if this strange person was friend, or else indeed foe.

            "I am Elden." said the man, tossing back his hood to reveal his fine chiseled face, soaked with rain. His hair was long and dark, pulled back into a half-ponytail and revealing long, prominent elvish ears.

            "You're elven!" said Denevive, astonished.

            "As are you, if only half so. Now is not the time to talk, nor the place. I will explain all below deck. Come along." And Elden led the way down the stairs to the private guest cabins.

            "So, tell me now," began Denevive, standing rigidly across from his mysterious companion Elden, "Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want of me?"

            The storm raged the sea and tossed the ship about among the waves, though the fury of such a storm was greatly dulled in Elden's small cabin. The rocking of the ship, ever constant, churned Denevive's stomach. Though raised in a fishing village and used to the sea, he had never boarded such a large moving thing as the vessel he had commandeered. A lantern, hung upon the hook near the door, swung and caused shadows to dance upon the planks of the walls. It was the only illumination against the dark storm, seemingly swallowing up what little light the lantern's flame provided. 

            Elden's eyes gleamed in the lantern light. He had taken off his cloak and hood, which had been tossed haphazardly upon his bunk. 

            "Impatient, aren't we?" Elden said, lazily falling onto his bed.

            "I've had a very bad day and I would appreciate swift answers to my questions." Scowled the half-elf, roughly taking a spare crate from the corner and sitting down with a huff.

            Elden laughed with good humor at the face Denevive made, as though the entire time had been light-hearted joking. "All these years of tracking you down and you end up being nothing like I had expected you to be. How very droll."

            "Answer me, damn it! Who in the nine hells are you."

"I told you." Elden replied, the mirth dissipated, "I am Elden. But – what I didn't tell you was that I'm a ranger from Ki'Santh."

            "A ranger? A blasted ranger!?" roared Denevive, "I get flaming arrows, a cloaked assassin, and now a ranger sent after me. What in the hells is going on around here?!"

            "If you'll let me finish, I would be only too happy to answer that for you."

            Denevive's eyes narrowed and he barely managed to say, "By all means, continue."

            "Eighty revolutions ago – years to you, I believe – was when you were born. Your birthplace, at the time, was a small prosperous kingdom of Glynor. One of many in the Elvish Empire of Ki'Santh. This particular province was relatively far from the capital, on the very outskirts of the country. But for some reason, it drew an interest to the supreme chancellor. He had ordered the province destroyed, along with it's inhabitance. Your father, Sephril, had anticipated a violent approach from the chancellor before hand, having rejected several letters that had indicated the suggested surrender of Glynor."

            All this was quite a spoonful to swallow. Sitting uncomfortably on his crate, Denevive could only stare, dumbfounded. Elden seemed amused by this, taking a brief pause so that the half-elf could calmly digest the information before taking in more.

            "I was given orders," continued the elf, "to take a message, containing the Key to the Barrier, to the land of the humans, along with Sephril's newborn son. Unfortunately, that was the last I saw of Sephril. I barely managed to escape to the small sailing vessel before everything was engulfed in flames. From the river, I and the two guards who accompanied me watched our home burn. It wasn't long after we crossed the Barrier that we noticed we were being followed."

            "Followed by whom?" asked Denevive softly. Elden's eyes became very serious and grave, staring straight through his companion with dark eyes.

            "The same men who attacked you and your lady today." Elden's words were punctuated by a flash of lightening, followed by the drum of thunder. The storm raged on, while safe inside the cabin, Denevive's mind whirled. He felt dizzy and sick, both from the unforgiving motions of the ship and this new history. What to make of it, he couldn't decide? How could he trust this dark man? In fact . . .

            "How did you know we were attacked, Elden?" Denevive asked, to which Elden gave an immediate reply.

            "I have been searching for you for nearly 80 years. I was following quite close behind you as your coach hurried off to the docks of Asturia's capital."

            "Why . . . wait a minute. What happened, when you were carrying the message all those years ago?"

            To this, Elden heaved a great sigh, finally deciding to loosen the leather ties of his vest. "The men who attacked you tonight were the same men following us – they are lackeys to the high chancellor of Ki'Santh. They also attacked our vessel. I was able to use magic to protect you and cast you out into the sea. Vencilos is rather unyielding in battle. There were three of us and four of them – but only I could use magic against them." Elden stopped there, seemingly unable to continue. He turned away from Denevive, proceeded to undress himself without another word uttered.

            "But what about . . .?" 

            "Enough," Elden said quickly, "The hour grows late. It would be best if you settled yourself in your own cabin for the night. Tomorrow there will be work to be done."

            Denevive, standing slowly, nodded despite the fact that Elden did not see it. He left and did as he was told.

            The fires of the manor were quickly doused, though not by any conventional means. At least not conventional according to Asturian citizenry. As quickly as the flames erupted, they disappeared, leaving the blackened, charred remains of the foyer. Allen had stood, dumbfounded before a blow to the head rendered him unconscious. 

            "Where is the half breed?" called a voice from outside. The owner of the voice, also clothed in black, entered through the broken door, looking at his winded comrade. Drenching winds blew inside the house, soaking the floor with heavy rain and flapping the black cloaks against the men who wore them.

            "He - he escaped." said the other, the one who had fought Denevive. He tucked away his purple-gemmed amulet into his collar, looking somewhat nervously to his leader. "And forgive me for speaking outwardly, Master Vencilos, but were the flaming arrows really necessary? They nearly got me killed..."

            "You are expendable in this quest, Sir Mage. Your powers are fading in this magic-less world and your amulet won't serve much more use. A sentence of death would have been punishment enough, of course, for letting our prey get away." He looked down to the one-armed man, crumpled on the floor and unconscious. "Leave the armless one. He is of no use to us."

            "But, Master, he might know of Denevive's whereabouts . . ."

            "I can assure you," said Vencilos as he started back outside into the rainstorm, "This wretch will not know. Elden found Denevive first. Our only chance now would be to find them on the continent of Aelyria."

            "The ranger-mage of the Girrulis family? I thought we . . ." said the mage, following closely at his leader's heels. They went outside to meet the rest of their party. two other men, cloaked and hooded in black.

            "Now is not the time to question such things." yawned Vencilos. "And next time you shoot an arrow, aim."

            Rutolas growled. "I'm a mage, not an archer."

            "Well, your magecraft is of no use in these blasted human lands. So make use of what you have or I will have you turned into a tree and used for firewood." Vencilos walked away from the inane mage, not caring to continue their conversation. Rutolas made a sour face.

            "Yes, sir." he said softly, under his breath, watching his leader take the reigns of a pack horse brought out by another in their group. "Oh, allow me to help you, sir. No please, let me kiss your arse, sir, it would truly make my day."

            "You shouldn't talk about Vencilos that way." said Bregan, coming up from behind Rutolas. "He is the high chancellor's heir. Without him our lives our forfeit, whether or not we get the key to return to our homelands." 

            "And I suppose I should be grateful for the way he treats me and my family. It wasn't my choice to go on this bloody expedition . . . no, assassination."

            "I prefer the word expedition myself. Assassinating the human woman's family was just a small part of it. 80 years after her death and she still managed to elude us. The blasted half-breed!" Bregan tightened his cloak about him to keep out the chill rain, pulling his hood over his face. "So long as he lives, his family's province is up to him to claim."

            "If you ask me, the high chancellor's arrogant. All of this for a mere province," said Rutolas, "There must be something more. Something deeper. He sent four of us out of the Barrier, knowing we will not be able to return without the key. It's a lot of ruckus for nothing."

            "I didn't ask you, fool. I don't care what the chancellor wants, so long as I get my share of what he promised."

            "It's been 80 years since we last saw our home and all you care about is your share. Honestly, man. How can you be so shallow? Do you care nothing for your wife? A pretty thing you left behind, I'd say."

            At this, Bregan's face grew cold. "She is dead." he said simply, turning away. Rutolas watched him join the rest of their group, silent and resolute, all the while clutching a yellow stone amulet to his breast - the stone of the amulet dull and lifeless, though Rutolas recalled quite clearly when it was once bright and shining.

            "I'm beginning to lose faith in this high chancellor." said Rutolas to himself, walking at the rear of his party.


	12. A Waltz and a Plea

Chapter Twelve

The night sky was bright and clear on the day of Queen Millerna's Coronation Ball. The light of the two moons in the sky filled the castle courtyard with cascading blue light. It shimmered delicately on the gowns of the court ladies as they exited their carriages, and it accented the yellow of the lanterns lit along the cobblestone pathways. Carriages were enqueued passed the palace gates, all the gay couples waiting to gain admittance into the celebration of their new queen.

One particular carriage, emblazoned with a particular family crest, bore the attention of many couples who passed by, its occupant hearing their whispers. He hid conveniently in the shadows and behind the royal blue curtains that hung in the small windows. He took the time to mull over the events as they would pass. It made him no less than nervous. Accepting the invitation to the ball was the only way he could get what he needed. His men, and maybe with the slightest glimmer of hope, his honor.

The mahogany carriage finally stopped at the front of the palace to let out its occupant. Carefully hooded and cloaked, the man's boot stepped down to the marble pathway. Quite promptly, a palace attendant came up to him, writing tablet and quill at the ready.

"You're name, sir?" asked the attendant.

The cloaked man shoved the decorative invitation into the man's hand and said in a clipped tone. "I do not wish to be announced."

"Sir, I'm afraid that's quite impossible." Began the attendant arrogantly.

"I was given the invitation, and Her Majesty knows I'm here." He turned his head and gazed coldly at the smaller man. "Do not announce me."

The attendant gave him a wide eyed stare before reacquiring his composure and bowing. "Of course, my lord." But his words were lost on the tail ends of the man's cloak as they flew by his downcast face.

As soon as he walked into the grand foyer, guards lined up along either side of the red velvet carpet, he had begun to doubt himself more than he had in the carriage whilst he heard whispers. The cloak he wore hid his identity well enough as long as he didn't stop bounding down the carpet and letting the guards under his former command catch a glimpse of his face. He sighed quietly to himself, however, when he came to the end of the hall and the coat check maid.

It would be rude for him, not to mention improper, to enter a formal event so cloaked as he was. The young maid behind the half-door division smiled pleasantly at him, happy to be serving such a tall, slim, and hopefully young nobleman. Her eyes were closed with that pleasant smile as she awaited for him to remove the cloak. And when he did so, she opened her eyes to peek at his face before he went on to join the festivities. She was not left wanting, as her eyes widened the very moment her gaze fell on the sad and beautiful face.

"Sir Allen Schez –…" But he hushed her, not in an unkindly way, cocking his head slightly and giving her a brief bow before moving on.

He ended at the top of the stairs, leading down into the ballroom. He used to join these events with a smile, and now he could only find himself as somber as the swallow leaving his home for the winter time. Allen took a deep breath, watching the women in their bright, shimmering gowns being twirled and turned by their handsome beaus to the tune of the current popular waltz. The orchestra itself took up most of the left side of the ballroom, so grand of an assembly of instrumentalists that it seemed the new queen wanted everyone within a two mile radius to be able to hear the music.

He used to love coming to events like this. How happy he was then, back when he was still captain of the guard and one of the elite Knight Caeli. The women fawning over him, his subtle rejections – sneaking a gaze towards Millerna, seated next to her Father King. Times were definitely much brighter then, and it wasn't so long ago that he felt so happy.

Even when his sister had come back to him, which turned his world almost completely upside down – even then, it seemed that things were better. Oh, he had dragged her to one or two of these balls, perhaps before she was really ready for crowds. Much like her brother, she did not go unnoticed by most of the eligible bachelors in the room. So many handsome, and some not so handsome, men were asking for a dance. Some even bravely approached Allen to ask for Celena to dance with them. But, as it was, he had ended up making excuses for her; weak ankles or "Thank you sir for the politeness of your invitation, however she had recently returned from a very long trip to Fanelia and I'm afraid she's a bit winded this evening. Perhaps next time."

"Careful." Came a voice from an uncomfortably close distance to Allen's ear. It was very familiar to him, and he immediately turned to see who spoke to him. The figure was cloaked, hooded, and her face hidden in the shadows of the hood. "You were smiling. People might get the wrong idea."

Allen ducked behind the pillar, safe in a place where the torches and candelabras did not reach with their obscene light. He had hidden in these outskirted pillared halls of the ballroom many times as a child, finding that only the occasionally invited noble children hid here. Or the young lovers seeking refuge in the shadows for that secret kiss on one of the many settees in marble alcoves.

"Princess!" he whispered harshly. The disguised princess sounded as if she yawned, before taking a seat directly across from his rigid figure.

"Not for much longer, I'm afraid." She replied. She grinned at how paranoid he looked, nearly plastered up against the marble pillar like Fanelian adobe. "I was hoping you would come. I hadn't heard anything from you or Celena since father died. And that was nearly – oh – two, three months ago?"

Allen nodded, somewhat detaching himself from the pillar, though still afraid to leave the safe shadow of it. "Much has happened. So much that it might be difficult to explain."

She removed the hood to reveal a reproachful look on her face. Taking a breath, she cocked her head. "I know what's happened."

"Not – that." Said Allen automatically.

"Oh." Answered the princess. She took another breath, to sigh, and gave Allen a sort of pouty look – one that used to work very well on him if she wanted something . . . intimate from him. "You look exquisite."

The former knight dropped his head and quickly gave himself a once-over. "Oh. Yes, thank you." He wasn't even paying attention to her usual signals. He was too occupied with trying to be diplomatic, while at the same time feeling dreadfully uncomfortable. Just being there with so many people – who knew who he was, no less – made his stomach twist into horrible knots.

"Allen, why don't you have a seat here." She patted the settee, "There's a nice cushy spot right here next to me."

Heat flushed into Allen's face, a mixture of frustration and embarrassment knitting his eyebrows. "I prefer to stand – princess."

Millerna gave a soft sigh again. "Fine, Allen. Have it your way then." Allen clenched his jaw.

"You're not used to being disobeyed, I know." He said quickly.

"Oh." Said the princess, her eyes wide and eyebrows high. "You do? Pray, Allen – what else do you know?" she waited for him to answer her, stood up quickly when there was no response. "Don't you remember that two years ago, Dryden left me? Left me to deal with this – this political mess? Since my father died, the entire economy has been suffering. The council has been getting little to nothing accomplished. They bicker, and argue, or so I can gather from behind closed doors. I'm a woman, and therefore not allowed inside. Oh, there is very little that you know of me, Allen. I've had suitors from Basram, assassination attempts from Cesario, diplomatic nightmares with Freid.

Everyone in the world insists that I'm not a mere figure head, but my council. I have no power, and all of the pressure and stress. Now, if you can make any sense of this, fill me in. But I won't bore you with details and I won't seek your help. I'm just – a little frustrated and needed to see a friendly face. But if that's too much for you, please let me know. I can still inform the guards of your necessary and immediate removal from my ballroom and my court."

Allen swallowed. Apparently, everyone's been a little stressed lately. "My sister has fled as well, Princess."

"And I thought you – What?" She had begun her sentence with the same anger that had welled up inside of her, before realizing his words and suddenly feeling – unprepared. "Celena has left your home? But – what happened?"

"I – pushed her too far, I think." He began sullenly, "These few months passed and I was selfish, and angry. . ."

"Who could blame you?" said Millerna sympathetically. Allen shook his head, as if to clear the thoughts swirling about in his mind, to find the right words.

"She left with the Fanelian Samurai Denevive. I know not exactly where but, please, Princess – I need . . ." But just then, trumpets sounded.

"Damn." The princess muttered the curse under her breath, throwing Allen a bit off guard when he heard. So the princess has gained some bad habits herself. "I need to make my entrance, now. We'll talk later." And she left quickly around the corner and ducked into another hallway.

Allen didn't have later – he needed things to be done now. Sooner, if at all possible. He would have no choice but to go through with his original plan. Peering around the pillar, careful to obscure his right side, he could see all the dancing couples stop their swirls and turns and face the grand staircase from which the Princess would emerge. Everyone, he could hear, gave sighs of excitement – and then of dismay when there was no princess.

The trumpets sounded again, just moments later, and slowly Millerna entered at the top of the stairs. Oh, she was a vision, alright. Beautiful and firm, so similar to Marlene. Similar but not the same. Still, the sight of her in her silver and white ball gown made Allen's aching heart cramp up. He wasn't even aware of his hand reaching the spot on his chest where it had pained him.

A light shimmer of sweat formed on Allen's brow as he watched the ceremony take place. The head cleric of Asturia, the same who married Millerna and Dryden, led the ritual – anointing Millerna's forehead with drop of Asturia's sea water, placing the scepter of the sea serpent in her hands, and finally placing the crown of the gold and silver entwining serpent onto Millerna's golden head. All with boring, traditional, and painfully old speeches in between.

"May the sea god Jeture bless all of us this day." Said the high cleric.

"Jeture's calm waves to you, brother of the sea." Said the crowd in a muddled cacophony, as was the appropriate response to the blessing.

Then Millerna stood from the ceremonial throne (a dreadfully uncomfortable thing with no practicality engineered into its design, thought the new Queen sourly), and spoke, "As Queen, blessed by Jeture to look after the needs of her people, it is tradition for me to dance our country's Coronation Waltz." She curtsied very carefully, the gold and silver crown still upon her head, and watched as all the eligible bachelors stepped forth from the crowd.

Millerna descended the stairs beautifully, a smile always on her face, but inwardly she was groaning and not really looking forward to dancing with so many strangers at all. Finally at the bottom of the red carpeted stair case, she looked at all the men she would have to dance with, but stopped and genuinely smiled when her eyes rested on her nephew – the seven year old Duke Chid of Freid.

"Duke Chid." She said, smiling and curtsied to him.

Allen, who was still watching from the safety of the shadows, gasped slightly. He was so used to pain, but this was almost more than he could bear. His own – his son would have to bear witness to the violence that took place here in Allen's country. The son who did not yet even know his true father. Allen cursed the world's cruelty, but let the scene continue.

"Queen Millerna." He responded with a bow, and a happy smile as well. "May I have the pleasure of a dance with Asturia's new queen?" Millerna, still smiling, nodded. The crowd of men made an abundance of room on the ballroom floor. Chid led his aunt, though she was taller than him by at least a foot and a half, and in the middle of the dance floor began to lead her in a waltz. He didn't do too bad for a seven year old.

"Tell me, Aunt Millerna," began Chid, still with a pleasant grin on his face, "Are things still going badly for you? You seemed angry yesterday. . ."

Millerna laughed, a bit nervously however. "Oh, that. It was nothing. Just the usual stress. I'm not used to coronations. I just sort of wound up with this job, you know?"

"I see." Responded Chid, giggling – but he didn't really understand his aunt's humor. Millerna sighed, inwardly again since any other way would have been rude.

"And your duchy, Chid? How are things there? It's been two years, are things finally rebuilt?"

Chid's sapphire eyes lit up. "Oh, yes, aunt Millerna. So many wonderful things have been rebuilt. The city, the palace – almost everything's just like at was. The only thing is – I've been so used to living at Fortuna Temple that . . ."

Millerna let Chid turn her, briefly breaking the contact of their hands to successfully do so. "What is it?" she asked, her tone conveying concern for her nephew.

"Well, I like the Temple – and I'm almost afraid to move back into the palace. So many memories there. And . . . father's not . . ." But the sad look on his face changed suddenly, to something more resolute and somewhat resembling the former Duke. "Never mind, aunt. It's nothing."

This change in Chid made his aunt worry. Truthfully, Eries was concerned by this as well. It was a transition that both sisters thought didn't belong in their gentle nephew, his parents – true parents – being inherently gentle people. A loud, brief clicking brought Millerna's thoughts back to the waltz. She looked up to see the high cleric giving her a stern look and tapping his staff against the marble floor to gain her attention.

"Aunt Millerna, what about Sir Allen? I heard news . . ."

"I'm sorry, Chid. I have to change partners. We can talk more later, okay?" The queen had no choice but to break contact and dance with the next gentleman that stepped up to her. She watched over the man's shoulder and Chid nodded, backing away to the rest of the crowd.

The next young man she danced with was somewhat younger than she, about 16. Of course, like the rest of the noble males of Asturia, he too had long hair. A brunette, with sad blue eyes. It reminded her of Dryden's eyes, suddenly – the way that he looked at her when he said those last words . . . before he left her.

"_I'm not the man you deserve yet." _He had said, after depositing the golden signet ring into Millerna's white cotton palm.

She had taken off her ring that day, too. Having stared down at the pair of gold bands through mysterious sparkling tears, she finally tucked them away into safe keeping. She didn't understand why she kept them. At the same time, she did not understand why she didn't keep them. By law, she had been married. She didn't think her advisors were sure on her marriage status either. It was all so sudden. The wedding was a catastrophe, having been attacked by Zaibach luck soldiers – Dryden getting hurt. The little time he spent as Asturia's Prince Reagent was beneficial, she thought. Battle plans for the up coming war were mostly what he argued over during the few meetings with the council.

So with all these confusions, the arrangements for the ball were made with some discretion and the ridiculous waltz for the single queen needed to be carried out.

"_I'll make you fall for me. Because I love you." _Foolish men with their pride and arrogance, thought the new queen. Her nose upturned at the thoughts of fleeting male egos, her posture automatically becoming sturdier. She gracefully waltzed and changed partners again, her face showing little regard for the nervousness of her partners. She was a stern, new queen, full of resolve, determination and beauty. Her arms were held out strongly to her dance partner, yet still politely letting the gentleman lead her. This one was a stout fellow, but her face was still cold and firm, not even scrunching her nose at how unbecoming the man's face was.

Tap, tap, tap went the cleric's staff on the marble, and another gentleman stepped up to waltz. It seemed like the waltz played faster with each new partner, as Millerna blocked out any sort of images that might distract her – images of a man who had finally proven to be not so arrogant. A man who was giving her time so that he could prove himself worthy of her love.

There was a pressure forming in Millerna's head, and she could tell that it wasn't the crown. Frustration was the vice upon which her emotions were held. She was trying so hard to overcome such a debilitating obstacle that she hardly noticed exactly who she was dancing with. Music filled her ears, her head, her heart – forcing it to form like coagulating jelly. Dancing and dancing, the ballroom twirled about her so. Five. Ten. Fifteen noble gentlemen of her court had turned her about if only for a moment to pay tribute to their new queen. She had never even counted how many men she danced with, so distracted was she with keeping her composure.

Tap, tap, tap and the next gentleman took her hand into his. He did not put his hand gently on the curve of her richly decorated waist, so as to lead her, however. He moved just the same and Millerna suddenly staggered to keep up. It all happened very quickly, and Millerna finally focused on Allen's face.

"I have a favor to ask of you." Said the nobleman frankly, not at all surprised by the stunned expression on the queen's face. He was impressed, however on a miniscule level, that she managed to keep to the steps of the waltz even when he lacked an arm to lead her.

"A favor?" she managed through her shock. Allen quirked his eyebrow, turning her gracefully upon the ballroom floor. He brought her back to him, close enough to whisper to her.

"I need my men." He said quickly into her ear. "To crew my airship."

Millerna didn't even know what to think, much less how to respond to such a request. Her hand was on Allen's right shoulder, and she pushed just slightly to put some distance between them. Then she felt something being pressed into her right hand.

"Their names." Allen explained.

"A-Allen." Began the flabbergasted queen, "I don't if I . . ."

"You can. You will. You owe me and my family that much." His eyes spoke true of his words. There was hurt and betrayal there. A look that shot daggers into Millerna's heart in less time than the beating of a hummingbird's wings. How it made her ache. Her face softened, her lips pursed . . . she gripped the parchment note into her hand with sudden determination.

"I will do what I can, Sir Allen Schezar." Said the queen.

Allen bowed, "By tomorrow, I trust." Before Millerna could even protest (or curtsey in return), he stepped back into the crowd and was taken by yet another random gentleman. The noble, hardly over the age of 18, led her with more confidence than was necessary. She was turned about, and found herself looking over her shoulder towards where the former knight disappeared into the crowds. The room spinned, and chandeliers sparkled with numerous candle light, but Allen – it seemed – was already gone.

Millerna, as Asturia's new queen, had a feat ahead of her. But he had been right. For doing his duty and saving an alliance, she would do as he requested. She just wasn't sure if the real powers that were would let her do it.

* * *

Allen deftly dodged the crowds of people still watching the queen being turned upon the marble floor. He didn even look back, trusting that she would do what he asked, relying upon her guilt. Strange, how those gruesome events eventually came to his aid. Millerna being such a steadfast woman would not let him down, nor ask questions as to why he requested his former crew. He was thankful for their friendship and alliance.

But now he had a different purpose. He followed a golden head swimming through the crowds to the garden entrance. The glass doors were already open, leading out into the mazes of hedges and rose bushes. The chill air struck him in the face and made him shiver. Still, he looked about the moonlit creepers.

Just as he saw the glint of a subltle silver crown, he took a step but was quickly intercepted. Eries, Princess of Astura and elder sister to the Queen, deftly stepped in front of the one-armed knight. Her white gloved hand gently held up to stop him. Allen was surprised for only a second, gazing at the white-haired Princess with a brief moment of rage.

Her expression was stern, however, and she would not allow him to pass.

"You must leave him alone," she said to him softly. His anger forgotten, Allen found himself absently looking down upon Eries light blue gown of shimmering silk, his eyes falling to the regalia emblazoned upon the silver baldric she wore across her chest.

Eries brought her hand to his, in sympathy as she saw the fallen knight battle with emotions inside of him.

"He is my son," he said brokenly, staring at the cracked garden tiles below their feet, his brow furrowed pensively. "He looks up to me and I have failed him."

"The time will come, Allen Schezar, to tell him of his heritage. But now you must let him grief for his hero." Eries vivid sapphire orbs gazed upon Allen deeply, misting and glassy as she saw Allen's turmoil. He closed his eyes and clenched her hand. He was still a hero to someone. And so he shall continue to be one.

"Thank you, Eries." he said finally, straightening forceably and releasing her hand. His expression was now stoic, but his eyes still betrayed his heart. Tears brimmed there in the cornflower depths, but Eries said nothing and only watched him leave.

After he had gone, Eries looked up towards the bright stars and shining moons of the Gaean sky.

"Good luck, Sir Allen Schezar." she whispered. She then turned and sought to console the distraught Duke of Freid.

_A/N: Does anyone even remember this story anymore? I wonder if anyone even cares about it? But who am I kidding. It's a vague premise using an even more obscure cast. All I can say is, thank you so much to all those loyal readers. I'm experimenting with "Just writing" . . . instead of spending two hours thinking about how to write a paragraph. I just write it. Pretty good, huh?_

_If you love me, you'd tell me, right? Can I have a review, please? And maybe some gum, if you have it..._


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